


A Game of Wicked Grace

by thedragonagelesbian



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, F/F, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, not for several chapters though i promise, we start off happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-03-17 17:15:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 36,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13663626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedragonagelesbian/pseuds/thedragonagelesbian
Summary: This is the Tale of the Champion and her time in Kirkwall, told over a series of 21 short vignettes, all having some relation to her favorite card game- as a passing thought, a bonding activity, a coping mechanism. This is the story of Belladonna Hawke, and twenty-one games of Wicked Grace.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I never thought I'd be posting fanfiction online again, but here we are. Both because I'm required to for a class and because this fandom needs way more wlw content. At least I'm not posting on ff.net anymore. 
> 
> But anyway. This will likely actually be the first long-form fic I'll ever complete- most of the chapters are already written, so updates will be incremental but swift. And I hope you all enjoy~!

“And with a final flourish of her staff, the soon-to-be Champion of Kirkwall felled the mighty Arishok. The nobles of Kirkwall rejoiced, hailing her as their hero and their Champion, and the Qunari, honorable to the last, left, free to return to Par Vollen now that their leader had been beaten.”

“But what about _her_?”

Varric Tethras barely suppressed a smirk. He had the Seeker on the edge of her seat- quite literally; she had pulled up a chair to sit in with her fingers clasped tight and her teeth digging into her lower lip. A few hours ago, that kind of question would have come from a place of contempt, a revulsion towards his friend and everything she stood for, but now. Now Varric was fairly sure Cassandra Pentaghast had developed a little crush on the Champion. Before, that question was a search for damning evidence. Now, it was a plea to hear more heroics and triumphs.

The Seeker would be sorely disappointed. “She fainted, pretty much immediately after killing the Arishok.” Cassandra’s eyes widened- she even stood up, mouth hanging open to protest.

“She was completely spent,” Varric offered. “The duel had gone on for well over an hour, and mages don’t exactly have the same kind of stamina as a warrior, especially a Qunari one. Not that it would’ve made much of a difference if she had stayed awake- Meredith swooped in the moment the threat was dealt with and began asserting her authority, and Champion or no, she would not have appreciated a mage challenging that authority. So we let the Knight Commander clean up the mess and brought the Champion back to her estate.”

Cassandra shook her head. “But what of the Champion’s authority? Did she not have power in Kirkwall rivaling Meredith’s? After all she had done for the city, the people of Kirkwall had to respect her.”

Now, Varric had to hide a grimace. _If anyone had any respect of her, they would’ve let her give that authority up, and none of us would be here._ “You’re getting ahead of yourself, Seeker. We have months of acclimation to get through before she fully accepts that authority.”

“Acclimation?”

“By now, surely I’ve convinced you that she didn’t want any of the things that happened to her- that includes becoming the Champion,” Varric replied. “The title took some getting used to.” And she still wasn’t used to it. She despised that title with every fibre of her being, and it tasted acrid on Varric’s tongue, but he’d be damned if he used her name in front of them- or, Maker forbid, his nickname for her. “Of course, if that’s not interesting enough for you, I can skip straight to the end; I’m sure that’s the only part you care about.”

She almost protested- Varric could see the word ‘no’ forming on her lips; she was completely and utterly invested now. “I came here to hear everything- but in a moment; I have a small bit of business to attend to.”

Varric grinned. “I admire how long you held it, Seeker; I don’t like interruptions.”

Cassandra scowled. “It wasn’t for you, dwarf,” she muttered as she stalked away.

 _No. It was for her._ “Is stretching my legs out of the question?”

The Seeker responded with a grunt, which Varric decided to take for a no. The moment she was gone, he stood, stretched, and began to wander around the Hawke Estate. Escaping wasn’t an option- when they brought him in, he saw guards by the front door and the passage into Darktown. There were even guards by the windows- how small did they think he was?

He probably could do it, though, if he really wanted to try. A well-timed explosion and some thick smoke; he could disappear up Sundermount, even drop down into the Deep Roads if he really had to. But he could tell he was getting to this Seeker, to the Right Hand of the Divine, and if he had the chance to set the record straight with someone like that, he had to take it. For Bella.

Varric found himself passing by the dining room. A group of guards sat around the table, helmets and gauntlets off, cards in hand. A game of Wicked Grace.

“Mind if I join you?” Varric asked, stepping into the room. The guards froze; some of them started reaching for their swords. “Don’t worry; I’m allowed to be out and about- we’re taking a little interrogation break.” He sat down at the end beside a pale-faced lad who scooted away with no small degree of subtlety. “And I promise to go easy on you.”

The woman at the head of the table- Ferelden, by the looks of it- smiled. “Deal him in.”

Just as Varric got his cards (it was a terrible hand, by the way, and he wasn’t going to rule out it being intentional), Cassandra came in, glaring at him. “We are not done yet; come on.”

Varric sighed and set his hand back down. “Another time, then.” He joined Cassandra by the door and walked with her back to the basement. “Do you play, Seeker?”

The snort suggested not- or perhaps she just wasn’t very good at it. “What’s it to you?”

“The Champion does,” Varric offered. “Pretty damn well, too.”

“Oh… you didn’t mention that.”

“Didn’t seem relevant,” Varric replied with a shrug. “You’re just here to learn how the Champion started the mage rebellion, not what she does in her free time.”

“I could learn that too.”

“I’m gonna have to start the story over,” Varric warned. “There are some details I left out for brevity’s sake, but if you really want to hear everything…?”

“Yes!”

Varric lowered himself back into his chair. “So, it was a hot night three months before I met the Champion...”

 

Varric knocked back another beer as he watched patrons filter into the Hanged Man. It was Wicked Grace night- the highest quality entertainment in Kirkwall if you were willing to tolerate the stench of that many extra drunk bodies in the Hanged Man. Half the men in Lowtown were crowded around the series of narrow, uneven tables lined up in front of the bar, preparing to lose all their hard earned coin to a couple of Hanged Man operatives planted in the mix.

Unfortunately, Varric wasn’t in the Hanged Man just to watch suckers lose money; he was meeting with someone. But where…?

Varric caught the eye of a broad-shouldered elf who gave him a pinched smile before joining him in the corner. “Saxon- pleasure to see you again.” Varric offered the elf his hand over the table. He shook it as he sat down. “How is business with Athenril?”

“Business is fine,” Saxon muttered, “she’s been a bitch. Per usual.”

“Like I’ve said before, you could always come partner with me and Bartrand.”

“Help fund your fuckin’ suicide mission into the Deep Roads?” Saxon shook his head. “I don’t have that kinda coin, dwarf, and if I did, I wouldn’t waste it on the Tethras’, and I sure as hell wouldn’t be workin’ for Athenril anymore.”

 _Oh, how I pity the narrow minded._ “Well, do you know anyone else in Athenril’s cartel who might be interested?”

Saxon thought about it for a moment. “We’ve got some temporary operatives who’re leavin’ in a few months; they’ll be desperate for new work. They’re a pair of Ferelden refugees, related to fuckin’ Gamlen Amell- and one of ’em’s an apostate. I’m fairly sure they’ll work just to keep you from turnin’ her over to the Templars.”

Varric managed a charming smile as he finished the rest of his beer and leaned back in his chair. “Not everyone has the moral code of a smuggler, Saxon.”

“No- you have the moral code of a man with his head stuck up the Merchant Guild’s ass.”

 _Guilty as charged._ “So, who are these Ferelden operatives of yours?”

“One of ’em’s over there.”

Saxon nodded across the room at a brunette woman wearing too much red eyeshadow at the Wicked Grace table. Varric recognized her immediately as an occasional patron with a penchant for making a pretty profit off of Wicked Grace. She liked to lose the first few rounds- let them get drunk and underestimate her, and when she had lost all her coin, she’d offer up her robes. And then she’d start playing for real. The men always think it’s a fluke until she’s plucked every coin they’re willing to lose to a woman.

“What’s her name?”

“Hawke- Belladonna Hawke. Smart, witty, magic,” Saxon wrinkled his nose, “only interested in other women.” The wrinkling turned into a grimace as she nudged her handful of silvers across the table to a thin smirking human. “She got some extra coin for the last job, and she’s about to lose all of it.”

Varric smiled at that. If this Belladonna was going to profit off of others underestimating her, why shouldn’t he as well? “Twenty sovereigns she loses the next hand, then wins the three after that.”

Saxon blinked at him. “Maker, you must be drunker than you’re lettin’ on.”

“Practically sober.”

“Alright, I’ll bite. Twenty five sovereigns says she loses every cent on her.”

Three hours later, Wicked Grace was winding down, and Varric’s purse was twenty five sovereigns heavier. He grinned at Saxon as he tucked his winnings away. “Thanks for that, Saxon.”

Saxon scowled. “You know her; you’ve gotta know her.”

Varric shook his head, grin widening. “Never even knew her name before tonight, and I know everyone- though I have seen this little gambit a couple times before.”

Saxon’s glare hardened, and he muttered something particularly foul before stalking off. Varric watched him leave, thinking he should have taken more pity on the elf, or at the very least, given him more thanks. He had, after all, given Varric the name of the perfect partner for his and Bartrand’s expedition. All she needed was a little prompting in the right direction (Saxon wasn’t his only contact with Athenril- one of them could drop the hint near the end of her servitude stint) and a little time to gather up the 50 sovereigns.

Varric waited until Belladonna made her way to the door before slipping past her, tucking five sovereigns into her pocket as he brushed by.

_This should help with that._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should note before this goes any further that the in-game information around the rules of Wicked Grace are vague, not well-detailed, and inconsistent from Origins to Inquisition (but what else is new in dragon age lol). Furthermore, I don't know enough about real card games to compensate by making something up. So this mostly draws on the cutscene from Origins where you try to beat Isabela at Wicked Grace, the ever-unreliable Dragon Age wikia page, and not much else.

There was a knock at the door.

“Could you get that, dear brother?”

“Why do I have to get it?”

“Because you’re losing right now.”

“I’m always- ugh, never mind.”

Carver made a show of shoving his chair back as hard as he could, scraping the legs across the wooden floor. Bella grinned and reached across the table to help herself to her most recent winnings: another one of the cookie cookies Mother had made. Carver opened the door to reveal Varric standing outside. Flashing the dwarf a smile, Bella set her hand down to wave him in.

“Wait, what is he doing here?” Carver demanded.

“We’re all meeting here before breaking into the Chantry,” Bella replied. “Well, everyone except our ex-Grey Warden comrade. Welcome to the Hawke estate, Varric.”

Varric gave an offhand shrug as he paced around Gamlen’s house. “Probably not what you want to hear, but I’ve seen worse places in Lowtown.” He paused, glancing at the table. “Didn’t know you both played Wicked Grace.”

“Does it count as playing if your sister always beats you?” Carver muttered.

“You know what they say, Carver- practice against someone better than you makes perfect.”

Carver scowled. “Does it count as practice if all you do is brag?”

“Absolutely.”

Varric snickered. “If you want, I can take over until Red gets here- maybe knock your sister down a few pegs.”

Carver waved a hand towards the table. “By all means- about time someone did.”

“What are we playing for?” Varric asked as he sat down.

“Some cookies Mother made,” Bella answered. “The stakes are high- I’ve gone all in, and Carver’s ego demanded he do the same. Now it’s up to you to save my brother’s last few cookies; you’re his only hope.”

“At least my only hope isn’t you for a change.”

“Don’t worry, Junior.” Varric flicked a card into the discard pile. “Your cookie stock is in good hands. How’d the two of you learn to play, anyway?”

Bella’s mouth twisted into a grimace she quickly hid behind her hand. She told herself it was the rotten hand that made her grimace, the turn of the game against her, the fact that she still had no matches and she couldn’t bluff her way to victory like she could with Carver. The knowledge that she would lose, and not dead family thoughts. Never dead family thoughts.

“My father taught me.” Bella managed at last as she discarded her drake. “And I taught Bethany. She is- was the real master.” Varric discarded another card- had Carver really been playing that poorly, or was he trying to throw her off? Damn, and that made her turn again too. “We played against each other all the time as teenagers; there wasn’t much else young apostates could do for fun.”

“Fair enough.” Varric finally drew a card. “But it’s hard to get good when you only play against the same two people.”

So Varric thought her boasting and posturing was credible- not that Carver was just bad at cards. Where’d he get that idea from? “Being better than Carver is easy- that doesn’t make me good.”

Varric shrugged, considering his hand carefully. Carver always pretended to take his time when he didn’t have a good move; it made it all the more obvious when he did think of something clever and played quickly. “Maybe,” Varric tossed a knight of dawn onto the table, face up, “but it does take a certain skill to play the Hanged Man Wicked Grace night the way you do.”

Bella blinked and felt her cheeks warm. “Y-you know about that?”

“He does live at the Hanged Man,” Carver commented.

“He has a room there,” Bella protested, “and there’s a huge leap between ‘he has a room at the Hanged Man’ and ‘he’s seen me play Wicked Grace there’.”

“What can I say, Nightshade- your turn, by the way.” Bella drew a card and nearly grinned when she finally drew a match for her song of temerity. “Watching gambling is entertaining, and your little gambit was…” Varric played another knight, this time of sacrifice. What was he doing, playing a pair instead of keeping them? “Intriguing.”

“Lothering tired of it pretty quickly,” Carver muttered.

“So you didn’t just play against family back in Lothering.”

Bella shrugged and drew another card. Another match- song of twilight. “It was a nice little money-making scheme while it lasted. I have a feeling the Hanged Man is getting tired of it too; it’s hard to find someone still willing to play against me.”

“People do get tired of losing, so they either stop playing.” Varric paused as he drew a card. He stared at it for a moment before setting it down on the table- angel of death. “Or they catch on. You can’t rely on people always underestimating you.” Varric turned his cards over- a pair of serpents, a pair of songs, and a pair of angels. An annoyingly good hand.

But all it took was a flick of a finger and a gentle touch of magic wind to knock the top card from the discard pile towards Bella as she overturned her hand. Her three songs plus the song of mercy Varric discarded made a set of four of the same suit. A winning hand.

With a smirk, Bella reached across the table to drag the rest of Carver’s cookies towards her. “No one underestimates an apostate.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Don’t you think it’s a little obvious?”

“You’ll have to be more specific, Nightshade.”

“That- the nickname. I mean- Anders, I saw that; put the card back- it’s quite literally just my name. It’s too easy.”

With a sigh, Anders returned the card to the discard pile. Damn Bella and her sharp eyes- and damn his own lack of skill at this game. He had just come to the Hanged Man to grab drinks with Varric and chat, not lose all his coin to his fellow Ferelden apostate.

“And what, Blondie and Red are so much more creative?”

“They’re describing physical characteristics,” Bella insisted, “and Junior is a comment on Carver’s age as well as the fact that he’s my inferior.”

Carver groaned. “I swear I am going to punch you this time.”

“Blame Leandra, okay? It’s not my fault she named you after a deadly plant before I could.” Varric reached for his tankard of ale, grimacing when he found it empty. “By the way, whoever wins this round-” he coughed loudly, “Nightshade- is buying more drinks.”

Bella snickered and drew another card. “Should I just go now?”

“Only if you want Anders to look at your hand,” Carver replied, flicking a card into the discard pile.

Anders scowled. “You know damn well neither of you would try to stop me.”

“Next round, I could try to help you,” Bella offered. “My experience with your ineptitude is bound to even the playing field for everyone.”

“I don’t think teams are allowed in Wicked Grace,” Varric commented. He flipped an angel of charity onto the table. Anders had two other angels- he wondered if he could grab it without anyone noticing. Doubtful; he poor sleight of hand was one of the many reasons he had trouble with Wicked Grace. “But I’m willing to take pity on poor Blondie and let the two of you pair up.”

Anders let out a soft sigh. “I’d appreciate any help I can get.”

“Cheer up, mage,” Carver encouraged half-heartedly. “You get used to losing to her.”

“But back to the name thing,” Bella added. “Belladonna was my father’s idea, not Leandra’s.”

“Whose idea it was aside,” Anders said, “I’ve delivered dozens of babies, and I’ve never seen someone look at their newborn child and say ‘I’m going to name this, the single greatest joy of my life, after a poisonous plant’.”

“I’m sensing a story here,” Varric commented. “Maybe you should grab drinks now.”

“It’s short,” Bella insisted, “not much of a story at all.” She paused to glance at her brother. Something passed between them, and her grip on her cards tightened. “While my father was in the circle, he always used to carry deadly nightshade berries in his robes.” She glanced at Anders now, and he remembered what she said when they found Karl.  _ A fate worse than death _ . “To him, the ‘deadly’ part was his way out in case the Templars ever decided to make him Tranquil; they gave him a sense of security, an escape.” She paused again, sighing softly. “And that deadly plant was important enough to him that he decided to name his firstborn daughter after it. And now we’re here, debating the appropriateness of Varric’s nickname for me over a game of Wicked Grace. The end.”

Silence settled across the little alcove. Carver was scowling at the ground, Varric kept reaching for his empty tankard of ale, and Anders could feel Justice quivering inside. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to name a child after a means of committing suicide. It wasn’t fair that committing suicide was the only alternative the templars left them with. Suicide or fight back (its own form of suicide- provoke the templars into killing you first) or become Tranquil and lose more than just your life.

“Well shit, Nightshade,” Varric announced at last. “You really should’ve gotten us more ale before you told a downer like that.”

“You asked for the story,” Bella replied with a shrug.

“We don’t have to wait much longer.” All eyes turned to Carver, who waved the angel of death in the air before setting it down on the table. “Cards up, everyone.”

With a sigh, Anders flipped over his hand. One pair of angels. Better than Carver, who had no matches.Varric had three snakes and three songs, but Bella had a full suit of knights. Grumbles echoed around the table as Anders, Carver, and Varric slid their coin to Bella. She grabbed her most recent winnings and stood.

“Refills for everyone?” Bella asked.

“Nothing more for me,” Anders replied, and Carver nodded.

“Someone’s gotta be sober enough to help you get back to Gamlen’s,” Carver said with a smirk.

Bella let out a huff and waved a dismissive hand in Carver’s general direction. “Varric?”

“Of course.”

“I’ll be right back.”

“Anders, why don’t you and Bella deal next?” Varric encouraged, nudging the cards towards him. “It’s easy to give yourself the upper hand if you’re the one who cuts the deck.”

“Is that why you and Bella are so damn good at this game?” Anders asked as he plucked the cards off of the table. “Because you cheat a lot?”

“Obviously,” Carver muttered. The smirk from his brief banter with Bella had vanished, replaced by the scowl from earlier.

“Didn’t like your sister’s story, Junior?”

Carver blinked. “What, no, I- that’s not-” Carver trailed off under Varric’s raised eyebrow. “Look, it’s not the story, okay? She just- she always acts like this, when she talks about Father. Like she has some sort of ownership over him, his life, what happened to him.”

“And what did happen to him?” Anders asked.

Carver gave a harsh laugh. “I have no fucking idea; Bella won’t tell us.”

And with that, silence descended on the group, punctuated by the sound of Anders shuffling and Varric drumming his fingers against the table. This stretched on for several minutes before Varric muttered, “What’s taking her so damn long?” and leaned forward.

“Probably got distracted by a cute girl,” Carver replied, the scowl finally fading. He leaned forward, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of the lower level. “Oh, yeah. She’s just standing there, staring at some girl by the bar.” Anders glanced over as well. Sure enough, Bella was not-so-subtly staring at a woman being bothered by a trio of men. One of the men grabbed the woman’s arm, and Bella stepped forward. “Look, I bet she’s about to swoop in and play hero.”

But this other woman needed no one playing hero for her. It only took a minute to scare the men into running off with a few new bruises, and the woman went back to her drink. After a moment, Bella finally approached her; whatever she used as her opening line made the other woman laugh.

Carver let out a soft groan. “Should I go get the drinks?”

“Have faith in your sister,” Varric insisted. “She’ll at least get the drinks before she and her new friend disappear.”

“Do you know her?” Anders asked.

“I know everyone, Blondie,” Varric said. “I can’t remember the name at the moment, but she was a pirate captain from Rivain before the same storm that stranded the Qunari stranded her too. As far as I can tell, she spends most of her time here, and things can get,” he gave a small, discreet cough, “pretty noisy in her room, if you catch my drift.”

“Well, looks like it won’t be her and Bella tonight,” Carver muttered. “She’s coming back.”

Sure enough, Bella appeared beside the table once more, foaming mugs of ale in hand. She slid one mug over to Varric and sat down beside Anders with the others. “Last game of the night, gents.” She took a long sip. “I found a job for us.”

“And this job wouldn’t have anything to do with your new Rivaini friend, would it?” Varric asked as he took the ale.

“Her name’s Isabela,” Bella said. “She’s asked us to watch her ass while she duels someone named Hay… Gay… something, tonight.” Another swig of ale while Carver blinked at her. “What?”

“She asked us to watch her ass,” Carver echoed.

Bella flushed. “Back! Watch her back. Look, are we in or not?”

“You’re drunk.”

“Tipsy,” Bella corrected, “barely tipsy, and what does that have to do with anything? We’re just watching, keeping an eye on things in case something happens.”

“And if something does happen, you’re not prepared to deal with it,” Carver insisted. “Besides, Aveline will kill us.” 

Bella glared at her brother before looking to Varric and Anders for support. But Carver also turned to them, glaring, daring them to agree with Bella. Varric busied himself with his new pint of ale, leaving Anders to deal with the brunt of the Hawkes. He looked around the table, desperate for something to distract himself with. He found the cards he had been shuffling and went back to doing that.

After a moment, Bella let out an irritated sigh and snatched the deck from Anders. “Okay, let’s play a final game. I won’t drink anymore, and if Anders and I win, which we will, it’ll prove I’m not too drunk to take the job. If someone else wins, I’ll tell Isabela she’ll have to find someone else. Deal?”

Carver’s sigh matched hers perfectly. “Fine. What’s the worst that could happen?”

The worst, Anders learned, involved Bella winning, two ambushes- one in Hightown and one in the Chantry, and Bella nearly incinerating everyone and burning the Chantry down when she put a bit too much force into a stray fireball. Inebriation, as it turned out, dulled Bella’s reflexes but enhanced the strength of her spellcasting when it finally occurred to her to actually cast a spell. So the evening ended in Anders’ clinic with everyone, plus Isabela, covered in elfroot and warmth balms.

But the worst also involved Anders winning a game of Wicked Grace, even if it was with Bella’s help and at the expense of some eyebrows (and chest hair, in Varric’s case).

And at the end of the evening, the worst involved Isabela and Carver sitting on a bench with Bella passed out across their laps. Carver was grumbling about it, but neither of them actually seemed to mind. Varric sat on the cot beside them, tending to Bianca, and Anders stood to the side, barely awake himself. That much healing magic was draining.

“I don’t think any of us can make it back to Lowtown like this,” Varric commented, stirring the silence. “You don’t mind if we stay until daybreak, do you Blondie?”

Anders jerked his head up at the sound of his nickname. His eyelids were so heavy… “No, not at all.”

“Is it always like this with you guys?” Isabela asked. “Getting drunk before fights and crashing at someone else’s place?”

“Definitely not,” Varric said. “This was more of a one time thing.”

“Better hope Bella isn’t instantly smitten with anyone else anytime soon, or it could become a more regular occurrence,” Carver commented.

“I’m certainly not complaining about ‘instantly smitten’,” Isabela replied, glancing down at the woman in her lap. “But if this isn’t normal, what is it like? Usually?”

After a moment, Varric said, “Depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether or not we bring Aveline along.”

“Why?” Isabela asked. “Who’s this Aveline?”

“A guardswoman,” Varric answered, “and the one who keeps us all a little more in line than we’re otherwise inclined to be.”

Isabela wrinkled her nose at that. “No, thanks, I’ll pass on that one, but the rest of you… listen, if you ever need some help with whatever it is you’re doing, just say the word. You’ve done me a huge favor today, and I could use a little more excitement in my life.”

Varric gave her a small smile. “I’m sure Nightshade will love to have you around some more.”

“Nightshade?”

“Bella,” Carver said. “He compulsively gives nicknames to people. I’m sure he’s already thought of one for you.”

“The one I’ve got right now is Rivaini,” Varric offered.

Isabela tipped her head to the side as she considered the name. “Don’t you think it’s a little obvious?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Varric being exponentially better at coming up with nicknames come Inquisition is either wildly out of character or subtle character development, and I still haven't decided which. Either way, Act I Varric who named two of his friends after their HAIR C O L O R S couldn't have come up with something as clever as 'Sparkler', so.


	4. Chapter 4

It all started when they met Merrill.

For some context: the one-year anniversary of Bethany’s death was one of the worst days of Carver’s life, second perhaps only to the day itself. His mother’s long-dormant but patented “this is your fault” look had reappeared, and she hadn’t wanted to even see Carver or Bella the entire day. Bella had gotten shit-faced within an inch of her life, and she had made Carver sit and watch, practically babysitting her until she passed out and he had to haul her back home. And as for Carver himself, well, who cares how Carver feels on the anniversary of his twin sister’s death, right?

He was determined not to repeat that on the two-year anniversary.

So he came up with a plan. Bella had scrounged up their coin and the maps, but the Expedition wasn’t leaving for a month, and, citing complaints about Sundermount’s height, and nature as a general concept, she had put off a half-dozen jobs involving going up the mountain. So Carver made plans for a two week-long camping trip to knock out all the jobs at once with Bella, Varric, and the new glowing elf they had met. And if it just so happened that the two-year anniversary of Bethany’s death fell in the middle of that trip, then so be it.

To Carver’s credit, his plan was going pretty well. Even better than expected, actually. The day before, they went to investigate the missing miners in the Bone Pit and found a dragon instead, which Bella thought was just about the coolest shit she had seen ever in Kirkwall. Whatever emotions were involved in being unreasonably excited about fighting a dragon, they carried over to the next day. The day of the anniversary.

And Bella didn’t even seem to notice.

She was smiling as they hiked across the mountain. Laughing. Making jokes with Fenris despite the fact that he still looked at Bella like she was going to turn into an abomination at any moment. Not once did she complain about nature or the uphill trek or even the surprise giant spider ambush as they neared the Dalish encampment.

Carver wanted to be angry about it- at her for daring to be so damn happy on this day, at himself for distracting her so well she forgot. Not babysitting sloppy-drunk Bella couldn’t possibly be worth the disrespect to Bethany’s memory. But it helped, so he resolved to let it keep helping. For now.

What was not helping, however, was Varric’s need to compensate for Bella’s lack of complaining. “Giant spiders?” Varric shook his head as he stowed Bianca. “Who the hell saw a spider and thought ‘that thing needs to be larger’?”

For the past week, Bella had joined in with a grouse of her own. Today, she gave Varric a cheeky smile. “I think you’re just upset that they’re almost as large as you.”

“Damn right I am.” Varric shook his head again. “I am never losing Wicked Grace to Rivaini again if this is the price to pay.”

(Look, people weren’t exactly volunteering to go camping for several weeks; if they had, Carver wouldn’t have resorted to making a game out of it.)

“How about this,” Bella said as she began walking towards the encampment once more, “if you don’t complain again today, tomorrow we’ll head into Kirkwall, and I’ll bring Isabela, Aveline, and Anders up for the rest of the trip.”

Carver nodded. “Sounds like a plan.” They could go into Kirkwall tomorrow. Tomorrow, none of them had to keep camping. But not today.

The day continued to pass without incident. The Dalish were understandably cold, but Keeper Marethari was welcoming enough, and she gave them more stuff to do. More distractions. There were walking corpses and demons, but there was also Merrill, the slim wide-eyed elf who accompanied them, who was to come with them afterwards. And despite his best efforts, Carver couldn’t stop staring at her.

Neither, he noticed with a scowl, could Bella.

Still, it was fine. In an ideal world, there wouldn’t be any blood magic involved, and the Witch of Wilds wouldn’t have come out of the amulet when Merrill finished the rite. But then, in an ideal world, the Fifth Blight wouldn’t have happened, and Bethany wouldn’t be dead, and Carver wouldn’t have spent the day trying to distract Bella instead of paying his respects. But the sun was setting as Flemeth flew into the forest. They could make camp soon, and then Bella could go to sleep, and this day would be over. Crisis averted.

But, to clarify that first statement: it technically started  _ after _ they met Merrill, as they were leaving the Dalish encampment.

“We should find a place to make camp for tonight,” Fenris commented.

“Make camp?” Merrill echoed. “Oh, are we not going to Kirkwall?”

“We’re going there tomorrow,” Carver assured her quickly, “but we’ve been camping up here for a week finishing up some jobs. We might as well camp tonight too.”

“Why?” Varric asked. “Let’s go back tonight, get Daisy moved into the Alienage, and enjoy a night in actual beds.”

No. They couldn’t go back. Not tonight. “That’ll be easier to do tomorrow morning; we’ll need to find furniture, and that’s if we can find an available house in the Alienage.”

“We also only have four bedrolls.” All eyes turned to Bella as she spoke up, and Carver knew from the look in her eyes and that this was an argument he was about to lose. She flashed him her favorite condescending smile. “Unless, of course, you want poor Merrill to sleep on the ground.”

Carver ground his teeth together. “No. I don’t.”

That damn smile widened. “So glad you could agree with me this once.” He clenched his fists, and his jaw tightened. “So, we’ll head to Kirkwall; I’m sure we can find somewhere for you to stay for tonight. There are usually rooms available at the Hanged Man.” She paused, and her smile turned soft. Flirty. “Or you could always spend the night with me-- and my mabari. And my mother. And my gross seedy uncle. Oh, and Carver, of course.”

She probably thought she was being cute. It was banter, the kind of stuff they did all the time. But tonight, tonight, after all he had done for her? Spending the last week up Sundermount so they wouldn’t be in Kirkwall on this one night, so she could be sober and safe tonight. And not only did she not realize it, but she was saying ‘my’ again. My mother. My uncle.  _ My  _ dead father and  _ my  _ dead sister. Never ‘our’. Never like Carver had some sort of claim to being sad about it.

_ At least I fucking remembered! _

But Carver, somehow, managed to hold his tongue as they descended into the city. At some point during his stewing, it was agreed that Merrill would stay at the Hanged Man for the night. When they reached the gates of the city in Hightown, Fenris headed back to his mansion, and Varric took Merrill towards Lowtown, and Bella saw them all off with a smile and a wink to Merrill before turning to Carver. Still smiling.

Carver held his breath as he waited. He was going to hate whatever came out of her mouth next. It was going to be oblivious, ignorant, and it was going to spit on all his effort this past week to look out for her, to take care of her.

_ Last time I make that mistake. _

“So,” she announced, “I think I have enough spare sovereigns on me to get me a couple rounds somewhere in Hightown- unless, of course, you want to walk to the Hanged Man, but that’s  _ so  _ far away, and we’re already here.”

Carver swallowed thickly and shook his head. “Not tonight, Bella. Not this night. You can get drunk by yourself tonight.”

He stormed past her, feeling her eyes on him the entire time. When he was halfway across the square, she called out, “Oh, I see. I’m sorry I didn’t realize that tonight was ‘Carver feels particularly inadequate compared to his older sister, to the point where he can’t be near her’ night!”

“Maker’s fucking breath, Belladonna!” He whirled around, cheeks flushed warm against the cold night air, shaking. “You have no idea what night is it tonight, do you? Do you?!”

“How stupid do you think I am?” Bella shot back. “You think I would fucking forget?!”

“Forget what, hm?!”

“That Bethany died today!” she yelled. “And don’t think I didn’t know what you were doing, either! An entire damn  _ camping trip _ ?! Really! I thought the whole point was you were trying to distract yourself, so I didn’t say anything! But apparently now being considerate is getting me yelled at!”

“The ‘whole point’ was to distract you! So I wouldn’t have to spend tonight watching you throw yourself a pity party and get wasted while crying about how much you miss  _ my _ twin sister!”

That one hurt. He could see it in her silver eyes, the shift, the step back as she stared at him, eyes watering. In a twisted way, it was kind of satisfying. She loved dancing circles around him whenever they argued. Not tonight. Not this night.

“Carver-”

“Like I said, you can get drunk by yourself tonight,” Carver repeated as the anger slowly seeped from him, just as it leached from her, “and tomorrow if you want to get hammered again, I’ll go with you, but I’m done with you acting like you’re the only one who’s allowed to be sad about what happened to Bethany and Father. And I’m done being there for you when you are if you’re never going to be there for me when I’m mourning them too.”

She was silent for a good long while. Finally, she let out a shaky sigh and said, “Okay. I’m sorry. Happy?”

“No.”

“Okay.” She raked her hand through her bangs. “Let’s just go home, then. With any luck, Mother is already asleep. At the very least, we won’t have to deal with her today.”

It was one of the few things the two of them could be united on: not wanting to be blamed for Bethany’s death by their mother. Carver nodded and waited for Bella to join him in the middle of the square before they set off for Lowtown, side-by-side, silent for the most part until Bella said softly, “You know, for what it’s worth, the camping trip was a pretty good idea. Keeping busy, staying distracted. It almost worked. Then Keeper Marethari had to make us take her cute elf friend back to Kirkwall with us.”

Carver wanted to smile, wanted to return the banter. Maybe call Marethari a bastard for forcing a very likeable and attractive person on them. Bella would love that. But his stomach was churning, his blood still boiling. And most of all he was tired. It had been one of their shorter fights, but it had drained him. Talking about Bethany always did.

When he didn’t respond, she tried again. “And I’m sure it was good practice for the Expedition. Sleeping in the Deep Roads can _ not _ be comfortable.”

The Expedition. Right. Weeks, maybe even months, of travelling through the Deep Roads with Bella, a bunch of dwarves, and one other terribly unfortunate companion. But Varric had promised it would make them rich. And maybe that was what the family needed. If Mother got back into high society, she wouldn’t have a worry in the world except for the Hightown gossip. Bella wouldn’t have a worry either- no more templars, no more work, no more responsibilities; she could drink and play cards and carouse her way to a happy early grave.

And Carver would have the money to leave. He could go away and make something of himself, something his own and separate from the Hawke name and especially separate from Belladonna Hawke. Aveline wouldn’t let him into the city guard, but he could find somewhere with an army looking for recruits. He could rise up through the ranks and become a renowned general. Or he could go back to Ferelden and help the survivors of the Blight rebuild. He wouldn’t need a flashy title or a large shadow to cast; he would just do the good he could for his homeland. 

But what mattered was that no matter what, if they got rich, he could leave. He could stop being ‘Bella’s little brother’.

Yes, the Expedition would make things right.


	5. Chapter 5

She was cute- Isabela would give her that. The small twittering Dalish elf Bella had brought down from Sundermount was  _ really  _ cute. And Isabela wasn’t the only one who thought so, if the looks the men in the Hanged Man were giving her were any indication. A friendly intervention was in order.

“Merrill!” Isabela called.

The elf turned her head and blinked at Isabela for a moment before wandering over. “Oh, hi Isabela- it is Isabela, isn’t it? I have trouble keeping track of names; I grew up just sorta knowing the names of everyone in my Clan, and I’ve been meeting a lot of new people since I moved here.”

“It’s all good,” Isabela assured her, “but watch who you give your name to around here; not everyone is as well-intentioned as Bella or Varric or I.”

“I know that,” Merrill insisted.

Isabela sighed softly, resisting the urge to shake her head. “What are you doing here, anyway? Do you drink? Do Dalish drink?”

“Not much,” Merrill answered. “I’m here because, well, I’m a little lonely, I suppose. With Bella and Carver and Varric off on their Deep Roads Expedition, no one’s really been visiting me- and I don’t think Fenris likes me very much, and, actually, I don’t think Aveline cares for me either, so I decided to come here. I thought… maybe if I was just around a lot of other people, I’d feel less lonely.”

“It’s easy to feel loneliest in a crowd,” Isabela replied. “Let me buy you a drink, and we can hang out together.”

“Oh!” A light blush crept up the elf’s neck. “Thank you, but I have coin. Not much, but-”

“If you don’t have much, then you definitely shouldn’t be wasting it on this dive,” Isabela said firmly. Merrill frowned- a cute, pouty frown. “Come on, this is the kind of thing friends do for each other; they buy each other drinks.”

She perked up at that. “Are we friends?”

“Friends of friends,” Isabela replied with a dismissive hand-wave. “Close enough, and if you really want to, you can pay me back once you have a little more coin.”

“Oh, alright,” Merrill said, sighing. “I probably shouldn’t have that much, though.”

“I’ll make sure you don’t,” Isabela promised. She turned back to the bar, though she kept Merrill in the corner of her eye. Didn’t want her wandering off or getting unwanted attention from the other locals. “Two house ales,” she said when the bartender finally came over. He came back just a minute later with two frothing mugs, and Isabela slid a couple silvers across the bar. “Alright, kitten.” She handed one of the mugs to Merrill. “Bottom’s up.”

Isabela tipped her mug back, and Merrill did the same, though she made a slight face at the taste. “Do people actually enjoy this stuff?”

“Alcohol can be an acquired taste,” Isabela replied. “If you don’t want it, I’ll drink it.”

“No, I’ll drink it,” Merrill said. “You did buy… wait, did you call me ‘kitten’?”

Isabela felt her cheeks warm. It had just sort of slipped out- but damn if it didn’t suit her. “Yeah.”

Merrill frowned again. “Is it because of my ears?”

“What?”

“My ears,” Merrill repeated, “because that’s not very nice. That’s just how elf ears are!”

“No,” Isabela said quickly. “No, it’s not- that wasn’t what I was thinking. It’s just… you’re so kittenish, and not the flirtatious meaning of the word; you are literally kitten-ish. You act like a kitten.”

Merrill tipped her head to the side. “Well, I suppose that’s better, but what do I do that’s ‘kitten-ish’?”

“It’s not so much anything you do in particular,” Isabela answered, “but more your attitude, your,” she paused for a moment, mulling over her words, “naivety. Besides, kittens are cute, and you’re cute too.”

At that, Merrill blushed, scarlet seeping across her cheeks. “You think I’m cute?”

“Don’t read too much into it,” Isabela warned. “I say that to a lot of people. But yes, you are cute.”

Still blushing, Merrill took another sip of her beer and stared at the floor. She began rocking back and forth on her heels. “Oh… you’re cute too.”

Isabela grinned. “I know, kitten. So, do you want to stand around complimenting each other all night, or do you want to do something?”

“Like what?” Merrill asked.

“I dunno- play cards? Do you know how to play Wicked Grace?”

“Oh, yes,” Merrill said. “Some of the sailors on the boat from Ferelden taught us; it was a nice way to pass the time, even if I wasn’t very good at it.”

“I’ll go easy on you,” Isabela promised. Not easy enough to let the other girl win, of course; Isabela didn’t let other people win. She pulled her deck out of her pocket and sat down at one of the tables. Merrill slid into the seat across from her, both hands wrapped tight around her mug.

“How did you meet them?” Merrill asked as Isabela shuffled the cards. “Bella and Carver?”

“They helped me with a little problem of mine,” Isabela replied. “Someone from my past who had been bothering me.”

“Did you kill them?!”

“He didn’t leave us with much of a choice,” Isabela muttered. She cut the deck and began dealing, the cards pliable and almost soft underneath her fingers from years of use. “He tried to kill us first- but it was almost worth it to meet the Hawkes. They’re nice company, and hotter than a cargo hold packed to the walls with men.”

Merrill blushed at that, a soft rosy flush crawling across her alabaster cheeks. She distracted herself by picking up the cards with delicate nimble fingers.  _ The things she must be able to do with those fingers…  _ “Yes. Yes they are.”

“There’s no need to be ashamed about it,” Isabela commented as she glanced over her hand. “It’s not  _ your _ fault that there are too many sexy people in Kirkwall.”

“I don’t think there could be too many,” Merrill replied.

Isabela laughed and tossed her first card onto the table. “Fair enough, kitten. Is that the reason you came down here? Not enough sexy elves up Sundermount?”

“Oh, there are plenty,” Merrill assured her. “They just…” She bit her lower lip and ducked her head down, focusing intensely on her cards. “Well, let’s just say most of them don’t particularly care for me.”

“Too cute for them?”

Merrill gave a shaky laugh as she thumbed her cards. “Not exactly. It’s more like…” she trailed off, digging her teeth into her lip so hard it began to bleed, a trickle of red staining her mouth. “More like… no one in the Clan appreciates what I’m trying to do to save us. Tamlen and Mahariel would have; I know it. But they’re both gone, and now…” She trailed off again with a grimace. “Sorry. I’m rambling, and it’s my turn, isn’t it?”

Isabela couldn’t help but feel relieved as Merrill finally made her move. She wasn’t equipped to talk about feelings or emotions even with her closest friends. Not that she had any of those, but the point stood. All she wanted to do was play cards and drink and make light talk.

Except after a few rounds, Merrill announced, “Do you think they’ll be okay? Bella and Carver?”

“Of course,” Isabela said. “Why wouldn’t they be?”

“They’re in the Deep Roads!” Merrill exclaimed. “Full of darkspawn, and spiders, and probably all sorts of other monsters.”

“Yes, but you’ve seen them in combat before, haven’t you?” Isabela countered. “They can more than take care of themselves.”

Merrill shook her head. “That’s what we thought about Tamlen and Mahariel.” Her hands trembled around her cards. “And I can’t stop thinking- what if something happens to them, like what happened to Tamlen and Mahariel? They’re the only friends I’ve had in years; I can’t-”

“Merrill,” Isabela said quickly as tears began forming in the other woman’s eyes. She needed to stop this before things deteriorated any further; she needed to redirect this conversation towards something she could actually handle. “Why don’t I help you take your mind off of this, okay?”

Merrill let out a small sniffle. “How?”

Isabela managed an offhand shrug. “Sex?”

“Sex?”

“Sex.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've almost finished writing this fic, and this chapter is still probably my favorite. Like, 'used it as a writing sample to get into a class (admittedly about fanfiction)' kind of favorite.

“Bella, we should rest.”

Bella stopped, twitched, snapped, “We’ll rest when we find the Grey Wardens,” and kept walking. Yeah,  _ maybe  _ her head was ringing with every step and she could barely see straight and she was stretched to her breaking point as far as mana was concerned, so  _ maybe  _ Carver was right, but Carver was also dying, and damn him to hell in back, she wasn’t going to rest until he wasn’t dying anymore. She wasn’t going to lose another sibling to the blighted darkspawn.

She stopped again as they came to an intersection. Her head throbbed. “Anders! Which way?!”

After a moment, the former Grey Warden announced, “Left, but, Bella-”

Bella marched down the corridor before he could finish his sentence, and though they paused, her companions eventually followed her. Good. As soon as they stopped, she knew she’d have to too; she couldn’t make it through the Deep Roads alone. Not that there wasn’t a really stupid part of her that would try, but if they put their strength together, Carver, Anders, and Varric could probably stop her and force her to rest.

Probably.

A solitary giant spider sat in the middle of the cave, its back towards them. Perhaps the wisest thing to do would have been to turn around and make camp somewhere they had already cleared, because lone spiders didn’t stay alone, and with everyone so exhausted, it was doubtful they could take on a hoard of them. But good decision making had never been Bella’s strong point even when she wasn’t on the verge of passing out, and she knew if she just reached down far enough, she’d find  _ something _ left in her pool of mana. 

The depletion, it should be noted, was not for want of lyrium, but Anders had confiscated the bottles three hours prior after she tried to slam five in a row. He had probably been hoping she’d be convinced to stop if she didn’t have any mana. That hadn’t happened yet.

Bella pulled out her staff and closed her eyes, trying to find something,  _ something  _ that would let her connect to the Fade just long enough to-

She heard footsteps, the sound of a sword being swung, and when she opened her eyes, first she had to blink a couple times, but then she saw Carver standing over the dead spider. His hands were shaking around his blood-coated sword, and he stared at her with those cloudy tainted eyes as he sheathed it again.

“Bella-”

“What the hell was that?” Bella demanded. “You can’t fight.”

“Neither can you.”

Bella scowled. “I can fight just fucking fine, and even if I couldn’t, you’re sick, and you  _ shouldn’t  _ fight.”

Were the circumstances different, Bella was sure Carver would snap back- but instead, he folded his arms and straightened. “So you’re saying I should rest.”

_ Goddamnit.  _ “Not fighting is rest enough.” She bit her lip. “Or we could slow down if you need us to, but the sooner we get to the Grey Wardens-” Bella trailed off as the world spun, and she found herself sagging against the cave wall, trying desperately to stay upright.  _ Goddamnit! _

“We should all rest.” Varric- fuck off, Varric! “There was that dead end half a mile back- shallow and narrow enough to make camp.”

“No,” Bella began, head still spinning.

“Bella, we’re still at least a day away from the Grey Wardens,” Anders interrupted, “maybe more. The taint isn’t going to take Carver in one day, and honestly,” he glanced dubiously at her brother, “the exhaustion may be speeding up its progress.”

The spinning finally stopped, and after a moment, Bella pulled away from the wall. “Fine. Fine, okay, we’ll make camp where Varric suggested; we’ll rest for six hours and take three two-hour watches. I’ll-”

“We’ll rest for eight hours.” Bella shot Varric her best withering glare. Why did people keep interrupting her? “Blondie and I will take two four-hour watches.” He matched her glare with an even, steady stare. “Nightshade, you need to rest too; you’ve damn near worked yourself to death.”

“If we’re resting, we’re all fucking resting,” Bella shot back. “We take four two-hour watches, and I’m taking Carver’s. I’ll go last if that’ll make everyone feel better, but this isn’t up for discussion anymore, so let’s go.”

She turned around and began the march back towards the dead-end.

Four hours later, Varric woke her with what Bella was sure was no small degree of reluctance. Tough. If they had to stop and rest, Carver, Varric, and Anders were going to make the most of it if she had to be the one who made them. She would be fine. She had enough grit and determination and mana to get herself through, and if she didn’t, then she’d make damn sure the rest of them made it.

_ And if the mana runs out again, there’s always the blood,  _ Bella thought as she sat down at the mouth of the cave. She had plenty of that. She had never dabbled in blood magic, but certainly it couldn’t be that different.  _ Hmm. Threatening to use blood magic might convince Anders to give me lyrium. _

_ Or I could steal it right now.  _ Bella glanced over at Anders. For all his grumbling about how much he hated the Deep Roads, he always seemed to have the easiest time sleeping. He looked damn near comfortable on top of the thin bedroll, snoring softly. All the lyrium bottles were in his pack beside him, but if he was sleeping heavily enough, it shouldn’t be a problem. And though the past four hazy hours of drifting between not-sleep and not-awake had restored a little of her mana, she still felt so empty, so drained, leached to her very core.

_ “You know, lyrium addiction doesn’t just happen to templars.” _

Bella scowled at the memory of Anders’ patronizing voice as he took what remained of their dwindling supply of lyrium. These were life-or-death circumstances, not the beginnings of an addiction. Besides, why shouldn’t she have at least one bottle for an emergency?

Bella turned away from the mouth of the cave. The coast would hopefully stay clear long enough for her to snitch one, maybe two, bottles of lyrium from Anders’ pack. She crept through their makeshift camp, past Carver and Varric, who had gone out like a light, and knelt down beside Anders. But before she could begin rummaging through his stuff, she heard a soft, “Bella?”

Bella turned to see Carver sitting up in his bedroll, and she scowled at him. “Go back to sleep, Carver.”

“What are you doing?” Carver asked, ignoring her.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Bella hissed back. “I’m a pretty useless guard if I don’t have the mana to fight back; I just need a bottle.” Carver was silent at that, and thank the worthless Maker, their chatting didn’t wake Anders up, and Bella was able to grab a bottle. She returned to her spot at the mouth of the cave and sat down again. But she could see Carver still sitting upright out of the corner of her eye. “Go back to sleep, Carver.”

“I can’t,” Carver replied softly. “I’ve started having nightmares about them- the darkspawn, calling to me, telling me to seek them out.”

Bella ground her teeth together to stifle a cry or a sob. “We’re going to get you to the Grey Wardens; I promise.”

Carver fucking laughed in response, and Bella spun around to glare at him, only to see that he was smiling at her. He never smiled at her. “I know. When you’re determined about something… well, I feel sorry for anything that tries to get in our way.” He paused before reaching into his pack and pulled out a deck of Wicked Grace cards. “Wanna play?”

“Carver, you should really-”

“I can’t sleep, Bella,” Carver insisted. “Come on, I need something to do.”

Reluctantly, Bella moved to sit across from him, knees pulled to her chest. “This is a new set,” she commented as Carver dealt the first hands. “When did you get these?”

“Right before the start of the expedition,” Carver answered, shifting. “I- I thought we might get bored. I forgot about them until now, what with the whole ‘being betrayed by Bartrand’ and ‘getting darkspawn taint’ thing, but… what do you want to play for?”

“No betting,” Bella said. “You’re about to have a much harder time paying your IOUs.”

“Back to joking, are we?” Carver smiled again as he played his first card. “Good. I never thought I’d say this, but I like you better when you’re joking, not… whatever you were four hours ago.”

“Bitchy and irritable come to mind,” Bella replied.

Carver nodded before sighing. “Honestly, I’ve never seen you like that before.”

Bella barely held back a snort as she put the first card in the discard pile. “Then you weren’t paying too much attention during that ogre fight.”

“Something must’ve been distracting me at the time,” Carver replied with a strained laugh. His smile slowly faded. “But I had no idea you… you went right back to being sarcastic and funny, and then you laughed your way to Kirkwall, and you never stopped joking about it- about anything.”

Bella grimaced, and her hands began to shake around her cards. “I have to, Carver. If I stop for even a moment, I might think about how it was my fault when it was Father, and how it was my fault again when it was Bethany, and how it could be my fault now with you.”

Carver didn’t respond, and they played through the next several turns in silence. Finally, though, Carver announced, “It wasn’t your fault.”

“What?”

“I know I’ve said it was,” Carver said, “and I know Mother has said it before too, but it wasn’t your fault, what happened to Bethany. Can’t say for sure about Father since you still won’t tell any of us what happened that day, but… I’m sure it wasn’t your fault either.”

Bella blinked. “Carver, are you feeling alright? Did you hit your head or something?”

“Not feeling alright, but can’t I still be nice?” Carver asked.

“Absolutely not.”

Carver laughed again. “Look, don’t read too much into it; it’s just… just in case.”

Bella frowned at that. Smiling and laughing, okay, but saying nice things to her? Nice things relating to her role in Bethany’s death? “In case what?”

“Well.” Carver thumbed his cards, still stalling on his move “In case you can’t deliver on your promise and you have to… you know…”

“I have to what?” Bella demanded. “I have to what?!”

“Kill me.”

The trembling in her hands worsened, spreading up her arms and down her stomach until her entire body was shaking so badly she dropped her cards. She shook her head. “No. No, Carver, I won’t-”

He grimaced. “Bella, you have to; if we don’t find-”

“We will find them,” Bella interrupted sharply. “We will find them, and I’ll raze the entire damn Deep Roads if I have to, but I will fucking find them, and they’re gonna take you because I’m gonna fucking make them, and then you’ll join, and you’ll be fine you’ll be  _ fine _ …”

Carver looked down at the cards in his hand, shaking his head. “I know you’re gonna do everything you can, but there are some things even the great Belladonna Hawke can’t guarantee. And if we don’t-” she opened her mouth to protest more, but he kept going, “if we don’t find them, you have to promise me you’ll do it.” She began to shake her head, but he wouldn’t stop talking. “I’ll do it myself if I have to, but if I’m too far gone to even do that, you  _ have  _ to do it, Bella.”

Bella kept shaking her head. “I won’t; I can’t. I- you can’t ask me to promise something like that.”

“You asked me to.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Yes you did,” Carver snapped. “Right after the incident in the Chantry with Anders and Karl. You dragged me to the Hanged Man and got blackout drunk and you made me swear I’d kill you if they ever made you Tranquil.” He shook his head, and tears began to form in his cloudy tainted eyes. “You said… you said we all have something we fear more than death, that being Tranquil was yours and Father’s.” He rubbed at his eye before looking at her, and Bella didn’t dare look away. “And this is mine, Bella. The slow death of the taint, or turning into a mindless ghoul- please don’t make me go through that.”

“Ask Anders,” Bella begged through her own tears, “or Varric, but please, for the love of Andraste, don’t ask me.”

“There’s no one else I’d trust to do it,” Carver replied quietly. “Guess I’m used to the idea of putting my life in your hands.” There was a pause as Bella buried her face in her hands to muffle her cries. “Please, Bella, promise me you will- if it comes to that.”

Bella wanted to keep shaking her head and arguing and insist that if they couldn’t find the Wardens they’d find another way because Carver wasn’t going to die  _ he can’t die I can’t lose him _ . But if he had promised her, despite how often they disagreed and how little they liked each other and despite the fact that she was drunk beyond reason and memory at the time, did she not owe him the same promise during one of their more tender moments when they were both so painfully sober?

“...if it comes to that,” Bella echoed, her voice hoarse, “but it won’t; I won’t let it.”

“I know.” Carver gave her a small smile. “I know you won’t.”


	7. Chapter 7

“Aveline- I can still call you Aveline, right?”

Aveline gave a soft laugh, mostly to ease the other woman’s nerves. Vydria, a raw and young recruit; Aveline had done some training with the recruits before she was suddenly up to her neck in Hawke Shit and Guard Captain Shit. She had hardly talked to any of them in months, but she had been trying to use the weeks while Bella was in the Deep Roads to compensate. “Of course, Vydria.”

“Well, Aveline…” She was still too tentative. Gentleness wasn’t a bad quality in a guard, but fear? “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Why are you still doing this?” Vydria asked as they rounded a corner in Hightown. “Patrols, I mean. Guard Captain Jevans  _ never _ went out on patrol, and I heard ’round the barracks that the viscount is gonna officially make you guard captain by the end of this week, and- and you’ve basically been running the guard for months now! You could give yourself no patrols, easy!”

“What kind of leader sits behind a desk and sends off other people to do the actual work?” Aveline asked.

To her surprise, Vydria actually thought about it for a moment. “Guard Captain Jevans?”

Aveline gave her a small smile. “Exactly. The moment you confine yourself to an office, the moment it becomes easy to forget that your guards are people, and they’re your responsibility. I am not going to let that happen to me; I will always serve alongside my men.”

Vydria grinned. “That’s nice. I think you’re going to be much better than Jevans ever was.”

Aveline let out a soft sigh. “Maker, I hope so.”

A silence settled between the two of them as they strolled through Hightown. It was a quiet evening. Aveline was almost disappointed, but certainly not surprised. Hightown had its share of thugs and criminals, but it was nothing compared to Lowtown or Darktown; even the Docks were worse at night. Well, they had been; a new gang had yet to replace the thugs she and Bella had rooted out a month earlier. In fact, the majority of Kirkwall was damn near safe at night thanks to her.

It wouldn’t last, but Aveline couldn’t help but smile. Her friend was a much better person than she gave herself credit for.

Suddenly, there was commotion on the other side of the square. A tavern door burst open, and the sound of shouting poured out with the light and the stench of alcohol. Vydria froze and glanced at Aveline, awaiting her judgement. Breaking up a bar fight wasn’t quite Aveline’s idea of guarding. Then again, it was a little odd to find a bar fight in Hightown, where refinement and image controlled every aspect of life and getting into a bar fight was rather unbecoming. So Aveline nodded and gestured for Vydria to step forward; she’d let the recruit handle this.

As the two of them approached the tavern, a number of patrons fled from it, sporting cuts and singed clothes and even a few burns. So the fight was more violent that Aveline had thought; maybe she’d have to intervene as well. The two of them stepped into the bar to find a crew of men surrounding someone- someone wielding a flaming barstool and yelling slurred expletives at the top of her lungs. Someone with a very familiar voice…

“Alright, everyone!” Vydria announced, the tentativeness gone. “Break this up, now!”

The group of men broke away to reveal one Belladonna Hawke- and Maker’s breath, did she look like Hell. Barstool above her head (and still very much on fire), hair askew, robes filthy, skin grimy, and her eyes were bloodshot and her entire body was shaking violently. She met Aveline’s wide-eyed stare and held it before slowly lowering the barstool; the fire went out with a wink. And all Aveline could do was stare and wonder what the hell the Deep Roads had done to her friend.

Vydria relaxed slightly. “Now, what’s going on here?”

“Vydria, get statements from these men,” Aveline nodded at the men closest to Bella, who were slowly storing their knives. “Find out what happened from them,” she cast a dark look at Bella, “I’ll talk to the assailant.”

Vydria also looked at Bella, dubiously. “Are you sure, Aveline?”

“Don’t worry, guardswoman.” Aveline’s glare sharpened. “I can handle her.”

At that, Aveline led Bella outside. The other woman followed like a petulant child, dragging her feet and staring at the ground. Varric’s quips that Aveline was the mother of the group were gaining more and more credibility all the time.

With a sigh, Aveline stopped and turned back to Bella. Her friend refused to meet her gaze. What was she supposed to say? How do you start a conversation like this? A blunt approach could get her yelled at, but Aveline had always struggled with subtle. “So… I didn’t realize you were back.”

“Just got back today,” Bella muttered.

That would explain the state of her robes and her hair and her skin, the all around general lack of personal hygiene. “Shouldn’t you have gone home and cleaned yourself up  _ before _ you started drinking?”

Bella shrugged.

Aveline sighed again. Okay, forget subtle; she was going to go after the main issue. “Bella, what in Andraste’s name happened in the Deep Roads? I’ve never seen you like this before- drinking in Hightown to begin with, getting into bar fights, using your magic in public! You’re lucky that I found you before the Templars did!” When she didn’t respond, it was all Aveline could do to keep from grabbing her friend by the shoulders and shaking her. “Bella, what happened?! What happened to make you act like this?!”

“They took it,” Bella whispered hoarsely. “They… they wanted to kick me out, and I was holding it, and they  _ took it. _ ”

Well, it was something. “Took  _ what _ , Bella?”

“The deck.”

Helpful. “What deck, Bella?”

“The deck,” Bella repeated. “ _ His  _ deck. They took him, Aveline. They took him.”

Aveline furrowed her brow. Had they kidnapped someone? But who was ‘they’? Who was ‘he’? And would Aveline be able to get lucid answers to those questions while her friend was so incredibly wasted? “Listen, Bella, you need to go home.”

Bella shook her head. “Can’t. I can’t see her. She can’t look at me like that again.”

“I’ll escort you back to Lowtown,” Aveline said calmly. She laid a hand down on Bella’s shoulder. “Unless you want Carver to.” She paused and glanced back towards the tavern. In her two years of knowing Bella, she had never seen her go out to get drunk without her brother. He either insisted on supervising her, or she demanded to be supervised. “Where is Carver?”

Bella suddenly wrenched away from Aveline, throwing her hand off of her shoulder. “I told you- they  **_took him_ ** !”

“Someone took Carver?” Bella nodded. “Bella, who?!”

“ _ Them _ ,” Bella moaned. “The Wardens.”

Following that startling moment of coherence, Bella threw up, swayed, and passed out. Aveline caught her before she could collapse on the ground. Grimacing, she stared at the woman in her arms. “Bella, what the hell happened to you down there?”

But it became readily evident that Aveline would not get the information she wanted from this member of the expedition. So Aveline hid Bella behind some crates long enough to inform Vydria that the assailant was an apostate and that she had turned her over to some patrolling templars. Then, she picked up her friend and hauled her towards Lowtown. Per Bella’s request, she steered clear of Gamlen’s home. Instead, she went to the Hanged Man, and she marched into Varric’s room with Bella in her arms. Varric had a pained look on his face as Aveline set Bella down in a chair inside.

“Aveline-”

“Don’t ‘Aveline’ me. What the hell happened on that damn expedition of yours?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Act I! Thanks to everyone who's read so far. Updates are probably going to slow down because in a couple of chapters, I'm going to run out of writing... whoops. Damn college keeping me from dedicating my life solely to Belladonna Hawke.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! I now only have two chapters left to write for this fic (!!!!) and both of them take place after Act 3, so I should be back to doing regular Tuesday/Thursday updates. If the fic isn't finished by the time I get through Act 2, I'll pause again between Act 2 and Act 3, but I plan on regular updates from here on out.  
> And now, without further adieu, more Isabela!

Isabela hated Hightown.

Sure, it had its merits. Like money. Nice things you could buy with said money. Comforts and lavishes, and not to mention the Blooming Rose. But did the rich pampered life have to come at the expense of becoming an asshole? The sacrifice of all empathy and caring? The loss of all sense of humor and fun? And as Isabela stood in front of the recently re-attained Hawke Estate, she knew she would hate this part of Kirkwall that much more if it ruined Bella too.

The door opened, and the woman in question stood in the door frame with surprise in her eyes. “Isabela!”

Isabela allowed herself a smirk. The new red silk house robe wasn’t exactly flattering, but it was better than the bulky mage robes Bella usually wore. Far too much fabric in the way. “Hello, gorgeous.”

Bella’s cheeks flushed. “Dare I ask what you’re doing here?”

“Just dropping off a housewarming gift,” Isabela replied. She held up the bottle of sparkling wine she had bought on her way over. “And I wanted to see the new place. I heard a rumor that you were getting furniture moved in today.” Her smirk widened. “Watching sweaty muscular men lift heavy stuff? Now  _ that _ sounds like fun.”

“Well, by all means, come in.” Bella held the door open for Isabela. As Isabela stepped inside, she added, “But I’ll have to disappoint you. The furniture is just being dropped off; I’ll be the one doing all the lifting.”

Isabela turned back to Bella, raising an eyebrow. “You? Miss Skinny Mage?”

“This Skinny Mage can lift pretty much anything with enough magic,” Bella said. “Of course, I’m sure for a few extra sovereigns, the boys would be willing to move the furniture all the way in. You and I can break open that champagne and watch, if that’s what you really want.”

“Oh, yes please!”

So Bella grabbed a pair of flutes and found a vine of grapes in the kitchen, and they made themselves comfortable on the plush red loveseat that got hauled in first. Sipping champagne and eating fruit, they watched men carry in mattresses, ebony tables, thick rugs, ornate armoires. And while Isabela tried her very best to focus on said men, her gaze was constantly drifting to the woman beside her, who was handily outdrinking her and putting smiles on the men’s faces with her witty comments.

Clearing her throat, eager to put her attention back where it belonged, Isabela softly asked, “So, if you were going to sleep with one of the men we’ve see so far, who would it be?”

Bella chuckled. “None of them.”

“None?” Isabela echoed.

Fidgeting, Bella shrugged. “I’m not interested in sleeping with men. Period.”

“Only women then?” Isabela asked.

Bella nodded. “Only women.”

“Well, like I’ve said- men are only good for one thing.”

“Women are good for six,” Bella finished with a grin as she touched her flute to Isabela’s. “I’ll gladly drink to that.”

“Cheers,” Isabela said, downing the rest of her champagne, “though I’m sorry about this.” She nodded at the pair of very well-sculpted men carrying a writing desk upstairs. “If I had known, well, I wouldn’t have suggested we spend the afternoon staring at men. Want to go to the Blooming Rose instead?”

“I think I’m alright,” Bella replied. “You owe me a real drink and a game of Wicked Grace in the Hanged Man later, but this is nice for now.” She paused as she plucked a grape off of the stem and popped it into her mouth. “I like seeing this place turn into a proper home instead of a slaver’s den.”

“Is that what it used to be?” Isabela surveyed the foyer with her nose wrinkled. “Well, that settles it.”

“What?”

“We have to find something to do to the house that sticks it to the slaving scum who used to own this place,” Isabela declared, “like… turn it into the hub for a slave rebellion.”

“Kirkwall is blessedly short on slaves nowadays,” Bella commented.

“Well some kind of rebellion,” Isabela insisted, “or you could-”

She stopped as something in Bella abruptly shifted. The other woman went rigid, her grip around her champagne flute tightening until her knuckles paled and Isabela worried the stem might snap. Lips pressed together in a firm line, she stared at some point above Isabela’s shoulder. Isabela turned and saw Leandra Hawke standing behind them, wearing the same stiff expression as her daughter.

_ Awkward family shit. Lovely.  _ Isabela cleared her throat. “Hello, Leandra.”

Leandra blinked, her gaze shifting from Bella. “Oh, hello, Isabela. What are you doing here?”

“I came to offer my housewarming gift and have a little bit of fun with Bella,” Isabela said and held up the champagne bottle. She gave it a shake, listening for the slosh of alcohol at the bottom. “There’s still a bit left, if you’d like a glass?”

“I’m surprised there’s any left at all,” Leandra commented. “I know how quickly alcohol disappears around Belladonna.”

The bottle of champagne was yanked out of Isabela’s grip. She turned to see Bella, cheeks burnt red, chug what remained straight from the bottle, eyes never leaving her mother the whole time. When she finished, she dropped the bottle and let it shower the ground with shards. Then, she stood, and for the first time, her gaze dropped from Leandra to Isabela.

“I’m going for a walk. Care to join me?”

Anything that would get Isabela out of that room. “Sure.”

For all Isabela’s earlier disparaging of the place, Hightown felt like a breath of fresh air after that. Bella weaved through the streets in silence for several minutes, and Isabela followed behind her. If there was some trajectory to their wandering, Isabela couldn’t see it- but then again, even moving through Kirkwall deliberately often felt like mindless meandering. So Isabela didn’t say a word until the color began to fade from Bella’s face and they found themselves deep in the heart of the labyrinthine city.

“So, Leandra’s still giving you shit for Carver?”

Bella sighed and raked a hand through her bangs. She had been growing it out in the year since she had come back from the Expedition. Her bangs hid her eyes, and wisps of thick brown hair curled above her shoulders. “Yeah. I thought I could handle her doing this again, after Bethany. But she could blame Carver for that too. And she asked me not to take him. Begged me.” She shook her head and swallowed thickly. “Every day, I become more and more convinced that she’s never going to forgive me for this.”

Isabela grimaced. “I’m sure she’ll come around eventually.”

“You would think even if she didn’t, that I’ve done enough for her to at least earn some respect. But apparently getting her her family estate, returning her to nobility, and making us rich isn’t enough.” Bella threw her hands up in the air. “Silly me for thinking painstakingly recreating her old life would be enough for her!”

“You know, you don’t have to be a part of that recreation,” Isabela commented. “Come get a room at the Hanged Man with me and Varric; you spend practically all your time there anyway. Or if there aren’t any rooms available, I can get my hands on a second mattress, easy.”

Bella managed a half-formed smirk. “I think I’d prefer to share yours.” She paused, any hint of a smile vanishing. “No, I need to look after her. She’s the only family I have left, and if something happened-  _ shit _ .” Bella suddenly stopped short, her face twisted in agony. “Holy  _ fuck _ .” She cradled her foot in her hands as she wavered on one leg and swore with a venom that would give some of the dirtiest sailors Isabela knew a run for their money.

“What’s wrong?!”

“I think some of that fucking glass ended up in my shoe,” Bella hissed through gritted teeth. “Maker’s hairy  _ ass _ I’m pretty sure I split my goddamn foot open. I need to get to Anders.”

“Here- lean on me,” Isabela said, moving one of Bella’s arms around her shoulders. Together, they began to hobble towards Darktown. “When we get to the clinic, how about I give you a kiss to make it feel better?”

Bella did smile at that, and between the muffled groans, she managed to say, “Lovely. Something to look forward to instead of having glass pulled out of my body.”


	9. Chapter 9

Sometime after the Expedition, Belladonna Hawke had set up a weekly Wicked Grace night in the Hanged Man. An evening for her and all of her companions to get together, catch up, and get varying degrees of drunk, from practically sober (Aveline) to utterly smashed (Hawke). And week after week, Fenris dutifully attended, if only to feel some sort of tenuous connection to something. To feel, at least for a few hours, like he wasn’t simply a guest in Kirkwall who had long overstayed his due.

That night, though, that night he almost didn’t go. The thought of seeing her twisted his stomach too tight, made his head pound with too many emotions he couldn’t sort out and too many memories of last time they had seen each other.

_ “May she rot and all the other mages with her.” _

_ “Let’s not forget who you’re talking to.” _

_ “I haven’t forgotten.” _

Somehow, nonetheless, he found himself in the Hanged Man that night. Perhaps he hoped some wine and camaraderie with the tolerable people in Hawke’s friend group would take his mind off things. Perhaps he just liked having something to do other than sulk in the estate. Perhaps he figured a potential evening of fun would be worth the risk of potential awkwardness.

Except when he stepped into the Hanged Man, Hawke was the only one sitting at their usual table. Isabela and Varric were nowhere in sight. Neither was Aveline. Even the other mages would have been a welcome addition. But no, there was only Hawke, and  _ shit _ she had seen him already. He considered turning around anyway, but she was staring at him, one eyebrow raised expectantly.

With great reluctance, Fenris made his way over to the table. “Hawke… where is everyone else?”

“Well, Aveline and Merrill weren’t going to make it tonight anyway,” Hawke said, voice tight. “And then Anders had an emergency at the clinic, Varric suddenly got a lead on Bartrand, and Isabela got a lead on something she wouldn’t tell me about.” She paused as she picked up the deck of cards on the table. “Which leaves the two of us.”

She began to shuffle the cards while Fenris’ face twisted. Did she really expect him to stay and play with her? Did she  _ want _ him to stay and play with her? “I’ll leave you to drink by yourself.”

She arched her brow higher. “You can play Wicked Grace only two people.”

“Yes, but…” He licked his lips. “I can’t imagine I’m very high on your list of people you want to play Wicked Grace with alone.”  _ And you’re not high on mine either. _

To his surprise, she let out a loose chuckle. “Oh, don’t be so harsh on yourself. There are far worse people I could play with. The Knight-Commander. The Knight-Captain. Any templar, really. And you could be playing with a certified Tevinter blood mage.” She began to deal, sliding five cards to the seat across the table from her. “Instead, you get a non-Tevinter, non-slave-owning, regular mage.” She flashed him a charming smile. “I’m pretty great by comparison.”

Still, Fenris made no move to sit down, even as she finished dealing and cutting the deck. Her smile faltered, and she glanced away, her eyes going to her pint of ale instead. “At least stay long enough for me to have a few drinks, yeah? Carver says I get stupid if I drink alone. Well.” The smile came back. “Stupid-er.”

Fenris considered this for a moment before taking a seat. “As long as we don’t need to talk about…”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Hawke said. She took a sip from her pint and flicked a card into the discard pile. “Repression and not talking about difficult subjects are my two greatest skills.”

With that, she bought him a pint of beer, and they played through several turns in silence. There was a certain comfort in the quiet, a rare commodity in the Hanged Man and all the rarer coming from Hawke. But when she wasn’t talking, she wasn’t defending mages, so as long as the only sound between them was the shuffle of cards and the clank of mugs, they could be civil. They could practically get along.

He won the first round, earning an eyebrow as Hawke pushed her sovereigns across the table. “You’re pretty good for someone who picked up the game a few years ago.”

“Isabela and I practiced a lot while you were on the Expedition,” Fenris replied.

“Isabela.” Hawke recollected the cards, tapping them against the table. “Hmm.”

Fenris frowned at her. “Something surprising about that?”

“I’m just surprised the two of you get along,” Hawke said with a shrug. “You  _ do _ know her opinions on mages, don’t you?”

Fenris took a sip from his mug to save himself from having to respond immediately. He did know Isabela’s opinions on mages, her quibbling about freedom even for those he knew from personal experience would abuse it. And yet sitting before him was a free mage, one who had not turned to sacrificing others or summoning demons.

_ It is only a matter of time before she shows her true nature,  _ Fenris thought as she dealt the next hand.  _ There were ‘nice’ magisters in the Imperium, but they always revealed themselves eventually. _

“And what about you and Aveline?” he shot back. “You know her opinion on mages, and yet you seem to get along just fine.”

“Aveline and I disagree on most everything under the sun, not just mages and templars,” Hawke replied, “but you could say we’re... bonded through trauma. We survived the Fifth Blight together, and you don’t forget something like that.”

“That’s not much of a basis for a relationship,” he said, playing a drake.

“Neither is thinly-veiled antipathy and distrust,” Hawke flashed a smirk and her hand as she discarded a song, “yet we seem to be doing just fine.”

For a moment, Fenris allowed himself a slight smile. “So we are.” But in the next, he saw flashes of Hadriana’s eyes in Hawke’s, blazing blue and hateful. And the smirk. They wore the same smirk. The same condescension written in their faces.  _ You’re being irrational. Hawke is not Hadriana. So  _ **_what_ ** _?! She doesn’t have to be Hadriana; she’s still a mage. Still one of them. _

“Or, we were.” Fenris’ thoughts were interrupted by Hawke speaking softly and frowning at him. “Well, that would be my fault, wouldn’t it? We agreed not talk, didn’t we?”

Fenris grimaced and went for his drink again. “We only agreed not to talk about what happened. You did your part; I just…” He shook his head. How could he finish that sentence?  _ You bear a passing resemblance to a woman who severely abused me, and it’s making it difficult to see you as anything other than an immediate threat.  _ He let out a discouraged sigh. “Forget it. Let’s get back to the game.”

“Fair enough- your turn.”

Two more rounds came and went in stony silence. Fenris won both of those as well, while Hawke outpaced him in drinking. It was one of a handful of admirable things about her, in Fenris’ mind- her ability to hold her liquor. Still, by the end of the third round, she was shaking in her seat, and the once-graceful card flourishes had become clumsy and uncoordinated. Furthermore, despite his hopes that the alcohol would relax her, or lighten the uneasy mood, or both, she seemed more on edge than ever. Which probably meant it was time for the evening to end.

“This was fun,” he lied, “but we should be getting back to Hightown.”

“We? Oh,  _ yeah _ .” She giggled. Happy to be talking again, he supposed. “I live in Hightown now, don’t I? Thank the  _ Makerrrr _ .” She fumbled with the cards, piling them together and shoving them in her pocket. “For a moment I was worried Carver was gonna have to walk me back to Gamlen’s, but I don’ live with Gamlen anymore, and Carver’s…” She stopped abruptly as every muscle in her body froze- except her hands, which trembled around the cards. “Carver’s…”

Fenris held his breath, terrified for a moment that Hawke might breakdown. From what he heard from her other companions, that was the typical reaction to bringing up Carver, or Bethany, or her father- particularly when she was drunk. But instead she put the last of her cards in her pocket and stood, nails digging into her palms.

“... are you alright, Bella?”

“Fine,” she said. “I’m fine. It was three years ago; why  _ wouldn’t _ I be fine? Let’s go. Now.”

She strode past him, making a wobbly beeline for the door. Fenris followed her out into the night, and the two of them began to silently make their way towards Hightown. They were left blessedly undisturbed. People were rarely eager to challenge a glowing elf wielding a giant sword almost as large as himself. And before long, they were in front of the Hawke Estate.

They almost parted in silence too, but as Bella opened the door, she turned and gave him a lopsided smile. “You called me Bella.”

“What?”

“Bella. Instead of Hawke.” Her smile widened. “You’re warming up to me.”

He returned the smile. If he was truly starting to like her or was simply feeling particularly pitying that night, he wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t going to contradict her. “I suppose I am.”

Her smile widened as she sagged into the doorframe, finger tips digging into the stone. “You know, sometimes I wish I knew healing magic. I mean, more than the little bit I know now. Because if I did, you know what I’d do?”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“I’d try to fix it.” Her eyelids fluttered. “The grief. The agony. It’s been three, four, thirteen years. It’s not  _ fair _ that it still hurts. But if I knew healing magic, maybe I could fix it.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“Well, we could find out together,” she said. “I could try it out on you first.”

“Thank you for offering, but…” He didn’t want to reiterate the impossibility of this particular fantasy, so instead he asked, “What brought this on?”

She shrugged. “Just thinking out loud. Thinking… we could be bonded through trauma too, if you wanted. Sad drinking mates who don’t talk and don’t agree on anything and just play cards and keep each other company when we don’t want to talk.”

Fenris couldn’t help but give a small scoff. “You really want that?”

She shrugged again. “’s long as we don’t talk. Don’t make things awkward. T’night was fun ’til we made it awkward.”

“It was,” Fenris said with a frown, “but you’re drunk.”

“Soooo?”

“I can’t be sure you want this.”  _ And I’m not sure I want this either. Not yet, at least. Not so soon after Hadriana. _

She frowned. “Shit. Well, I’ll sober up and ask you again tomorrow.”

_ Only if you remember.  _

And as far as he could tell in the days and weeks to come, Bella didn’t.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still not sure about how this chapter turned out. It's much more... voyeuristic than I intended, but it serves its purpose.

_ Dark brown hair curling around her shoulders, glittering silver eyes, soft lips twisted into an easy smile, tossing off laughs and jokes and- _

“Merrill?”

Merrill blinked. The images of Bella playing on her eyelids disappeared, replaced by the dark wood of the Hanged Man and Isabela sitting at the table across from her. The human had one hand on the table covering her well-worn Wicked Grace cards, fanned out face-down. She was holding a small cup up to her lips with the other and frowning at Merrill over the rim, frozen mid-gesture with one eyebrow raised.

“Are you alright?”

Merrill’s head throbbed, and she suppressed a yawn as she stretched. “Yes.”

“Are you sure?” Isabela pressed. “You seem… off.”

Merrill grimaced. “I’m just tired- haven’t slept particularly well in a few days.” She reached for her own cup, half-full with watered down wine, and took a sip. “Long nights of demons bothering me.”

“Doesn’t that happen every night when you’re a mage?” Isabela asked.

“Yes, but it’s been worse lately.” Her grimace worsened, and she began to worry her lower lip between her teeth. “Ever since we helped Feynriel, and you and I- well, ever since Bella stopped talking to us.” She paused and glanced over her shoulder at the table in the back corner, where the human in question was hosting her weekly Wicked Grace game night with the rest of their friends. Varric had…  _ gently _ encouraged her and Isabela to sit this week out. Probably for the best, too, if the look Bella had given them on her way in was any indication. Cheeks burnt and eyes wide and brow scrunched.

That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

“I know what you mean.” Isabela’s tone lacked the bitterness Merrill had been expecting. She turned to the other woman and saw her also stealing glances at the other table. “Damn guilty conscience. I didn’t used to have one of those. I could do just about anything I wanted, and now…” She scowled and folded her arms. “She of all people should know how tempting those damn demons are. And it’s not like there isn’t something Bella would betray us over.”

“Well yes, but she didn’t betray us,” Merrill pointed out. “That’s the difference.”

“That’s the fucking difference,” Isabela echoed, shaking her head. “Come on- it’s your turn.”

“Sorry,” Merrill said. She glanced at her cards for the first time in several minutes. The numbers and pictures swam in front of her as her mind raced. Leaping from thought to thought. The Pride demon’s words crawling in her skull. The hurt in Bella’s eyes as they left the house. And the Eluvian, the fragments of glass lined with blood, ever present in her thoughts, ever lodged in her subconscious. Creators, there was no way she would help Merrill get the  _ arulin’holm _ now.

She discarded a random card just to be done with it.

Isabela let out a heavy sigh. “I keep telling myself if she comes over here, I’ll apologize, but she won’t talk to us.” She sighed again as she flicked a card onto the table. “We should probably go over to her, shouldn’t we?”

“Will she let us?” Merrill asked. She glanced over again and flushed when she saw Bella looking at them. Or, specifically, she was looking at Isabela. Merrill went rigid. In what was likely one second but felt like its own self-contained eternity, she watched the human turn her head just slightly enough to shift her gaze from Isabela to Merrill. Their eyes met- for an electric moment they held each other’s gaze before Merrill tore away. “ _ Creators _ …”

Isabela’s cheeks were dark too. “Probably not, then.” She sighed. “I hate this.”

“So do I.”

They sat in empty silence for several minutes while Merrill drifted off and away. Well, even further away than she was already. Descending into the spirals in the wood of the table and into fuzzy anxiety and guilt and bad memories.

With only a vague sense of bodily presence, Merrill watched Isabela twist in her chair and look up. She followed her gaze and saw Bella had, in fact, come over to them. Isabela turned back to stare at Merrill with one eyebrow raised- the implicit question of who should start talking first.

Merrill swallowed thickly. “Bella, we’re-”

“I need to talk to you,” Bella interrupted, her voice strained. With a twist of her gut, Merrill realized that those lovely silver eyes were on Isabela. And Isabela alone. “We need to talk.”

Isabela spared Merrill one more glance before turning fully towards the other human. “Okay. We can talk in my room, if you’d like?”

“Yes.” Bella nodded. “Can we talk now? Let’s talk now.”

“Alright.”

With that, Merrill watched Isabela stand, and the two of them headed towards the stairs, disappearing into the upper level of the Hanged Man. Merrill sat rigid for a while, though she had no conception of how long. Seconds? Minutes? The only passage of time she had any confidence in was the irregular pulsing of her heart.

It came to something of an end when she heard footsteps, the scrape of chairs against the floor, bodies hitting the seats. She became aware of people joining her. Supposed friends who had decided now she could play with them.

For all her lack of temporal awareness, Merrill knew it must have been hours before Isabela and Bella came back. The hours passed slowly over drinks, lazy, casual games of Wicked Grace, and idle chatter. It was tolerable enough, but most of the time, she was aware of how her friends were looking at her. The sympathy was preferable to the pity, to the glances which said “poor Merrill; I bet she doesn’t even realize what Isabela and Bella are doing right now.”

They didn’t realize, of course. Didn’t know just how familiar Merrill was with Isabela’s favorite method of deflection, her favorite way to get out of talking about difficult subjects. And apologizing for betraying Bella in the Fade  _ definitely _ counted as a difficult subject.

At some point late in the night, after everyone else had gone home and it was just Varric and Merrill left, the two women returned, wearing matching frazzled hair and smirks. Bella’s smirk loosened slightly as she approached the table. “Oh, did everyone else leave?”

“You’ve been gone for a while,” Varric pointed out.

“What a shame.” Bella sat down, and Isabela sat down beside her. “Well, one more round of drinks, one more round of cards, and the four of us can call it a night?” With barely a pause to allow for dissent, Bella scooped up the cards and began to shuffle them. “Oh, Merrill. Isabela told me about how the two of you felt.”

Merrill stifled a wince as attention shifted to her. “I’m really sorry.”

“I know,” she said. “It’s fine. Exacerbated my fear of abandonment to be sure, but you’ve apologized, and it all worked out, and now we don’t need to talk about it again.”

_ And now we don’t need to talk about it again. _

Well, there was a reason Isabela got to her first.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The implied/referenced self harm tag is for this chapter, as a warning.

_ “Speaking of…” _

_ In her periphery, Bella saw Varric and Isabela staring at her as she stumbled towards the bar. But another shudder, a spike behind her eyelids, the lurching of her pulse, and everything, including her friends, vanished into a singular need to get to the bar and slam as many drinks as she could handle. _

_ “What’ll it be, Bella?” Corff asked. _

_ “House ale.” Bella’s voice croaked as she fumbled around for coin in her purse. “Pint.” She flung some silvers onto the bar and tugged her fingers through her hair, desperate for something to do with her hands. Some relief came from wrapping them around the mug so tight her knuckles turned white- but only some. _

_ “It’s a bit early to get wasted.” Bella heard Varric’s voice and turned to see he and Isabela had approached with frowns. “Even for you.” _

_ Bella blinked, and one hand went to her bangs. Pulling. Fidgeting. Why did Varric think she was wasted? “Oh! I’m not- I’m not drunk. Yet.” _

_ “Then what’s wrong?” Isabela asked. _

_ “Wrong?” Bella echoed. She accompanied the word with a cackle of a laugh, bordering on deranged or hysterical as she threw her head back. “Wrong?! Nothing’s wrong! I’m fine! Everything’s fine! I mean, Mother’s gone missing, but as soon as the streets empty out, I’ll go find her, and it’ll all be fine!” _

 

She went to Varric first. She wasn’t entirely sure why. She probably should’ve gone to Isabela. Her lover was probably worried sick about her. Or Aveline. Aveline had always had such Mother-ish tendencies, and no doubt she had spent the last two weeks wasting the Guard’s resources trying to find her.

But instead, Bella snuck into the Hanged Man when she was sure Isabela wouldn’t be there and she picked her way through the bar to Varric’s room. He wasn’t there either, but Bella had a key, so she hunkered down and waited for her friend to appear.

About an hour later, appear he did. It took him a few steps into the room to notice her, and when he did, he went straight for Bianca. Looking through his scope, he realized who she was and let out a hiss. “Maker’s fucking breath, Nightshade, you can’t just… where the hell have you been?! It’s been nearly a fortnight since anyone’s seen or heard from you! We were all worried you had gotten yourself hurt or kidnapped, or- or…” Varric trailed off as his face twisted in a rare moment of visible anguish and speechlessness.

“Maker’s fucking breath, Bella,” he repeated, softer this time. He set Bianca down on the table and crossed over to her. “Where have you been?”

“Sundermount,” Bella said quietly.

“Sundermount,” Varric echoed. “Yeah, okay, you kind of look like you’ve spent two weeks on a mountain.”

“Thanks for that, Varric,” Bella muttered. She ran a hand through her chalky, dirty hair. “Not like the thought of being in my own fucking house makes me sick to my stomach or anything.”

Varric winced. “Shit, sorry. Do you… want to talk about it?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then what do you want?”

Bella considered it for a moment. “What I really want is for my Mother and Bethany and Father to be alive, but since that’s a bit of a tall order, I’ll take the strongest drink the Hanged Man has to offer and a game of Wicked Grace.”

Varric grimaced, said, “I’ll see what I can find,” and disappeared. 

He came back a minute later with a tankard of something Bella could smell from across the room. “No complaining if I took you too literally,” he warned.

Bella took the tankard and lifted it to her lips. Whatever this coppery liquid actually was, it smelled like festering shit, and it tasted even worse, but more importantly, it burned. It blazed through her mouth and down her throat and settled at the bottom of her stomach, which had been so empty and so full of nothing for the past two weeks. It was nice to have something down there for the first time in days, even if it was shitty alcohol that could no doubt blind her if she drank too much of it.

“You should know at this point in our friendship that I can drink just about anything when I feel terrible enough about myself,” Bella stated.

Varric sighed. “Apparently you can.” He sat down opposite her and pulled out his deck of cards. “Do you want to deal?” Bella shook her head, preferring instead to take cautious sips of her drink while she watched Varric shuffle the cards. “So, I take it I’m the first person you’ve come to since you’ve come back.”

Bella nodded. “I’ll tell everyone else soon; I don’t want them to keep worrying. I just…” She tightened her grip on her tankard. “I have no idea what to tell them. ‘Surprise, your grown adult friend only knows how to deal with issues by running away from them’?”

“You needed some space,” Varric said as he dealt. “We all understand. A little explanation or head’s up would’ve been nice, but no one’s mad at you.”

Bella feigned interest in her cards to save herself from responding. What was she supposed to say? That it wasn’t space she needed when she vanished up Sundermount? That no one was mad yet but they probably would be when Bella told them the reason she left? And even if she knew what to say, the fact remained that she didn’t  _ want _ to say anything, particularly not anything related to  _ this _ , so she focused on her cards instead. She had a surprisingly good hand- no doubt Varric’s way of showing sympathy and support.

“Gamlen came looking for you just yesterday,” Varric commented as he flicked a card into the discard pile.

“Probably wanted to remind me that this is my fault,” Bella replied.

“For starters, no, it’s not,” Varric said. “Second, he wanted to tell you he had heard back from the Grey Wardens. Apparently Carver’s not with Stroud right now; he’s off in Orlais representing the Amell family at some duke’s party. They’re passing the letter along.”

“Orlais,” Bella echoed. She fingered her cards before setting one of her knights on the table. “He must be having a miserable time.”

“No doubt,” Varric agreed.

“And it’s about to get so much worse.” Bella pressed her lips together and tightened her grip on her cards as she thought of her younger brother’s response. It had taken a year for him to forgive her for Bethany. She didn’t want to go through that again, being hated and blamed for yet another death in the family. A tiny, rational part of her wondered if it was possible that Carver wouldn’t blame her for what happened to their mother. But she blamed herself for it, and it was hard to even conceive of someone not sharing that view.

Bella grabbed her drink and took a long sip, desperate for the fire in her gut and the tingling in her fingers.

“Do you think you’ll get back to work soon?” Varric asked.

“Why should I?” Bella said. “I have enough money to never need to lift a finger ever again, and I’m a bit short on energy for doing anything other than getting as drunk as I possibly fucking can.”

Varric grimaced. “You know- it’s your turn, by the way- I don’t have any regrets about how we dealt with Bartrand, but there were still moments when all I wanted to do was drink my regrets away, and doubling down on work and running around with you and helping stop the Qunari from tearing the city apart- it helped. It might help you too.”

“Why would it?” Bella muttered. “I can distract myself as much as I want by working or stabbing myself, but at the end of the day, I’m still all alone with my grief.”

“Isabela-”

“Still won’t move in with me.” Bella slapped her cards down on the table and shoved them away so she could grab her mug with both hands and chug as much as she physically could before she started gagging. And when she was done, it still wasn’t enough to help, so she slammed the mug down on the table and kept talking. “What’s the point of having a giant fucking estate if I don’t have anyone to share it with? What’s the point of having  _ that _ giant fucking estate, the  _ family _ giant fucking estate, if I’m the only person in the family left?! If Mother and Father and Bethany are dead, and Carver is gone, and what’s the point of knowing magic if I couldn’t save any of them?!”

For the first time in two weeks, for the first time since that night in the basement of that Lowtown slum, tears began to spill from Bella’s eyes. She shook as tears gushed down her face and she didn’t have the energy to stifle the sobs. And through blurred eyes, she watched Varric stare at her, his own tears trailing down his cheeks.

Bella shut her eyes, unable to stomach watching her friend cry. But she could still hear the scrape of his chair against the floor as he stood, and his footsteps echoing through the room as he circled the table and came to a stop beside her. She felt his hand on her arm.

“Bella… I’m so sorry.”

Bella’s attempt to form a verbal response came out as more gross sobbing.

“Do you… I could, shit, I dunno… get Isabela? Aveline?”

Bella shook her head. She had to keep the number of friends she had sobbed in front of as low as possible.

“Okay… what about a hug?”

Bella considered this for a moment before slowly nodding. She stood up from the chair and knelt down in front of her friend, removing the need to negotiate their considerable height difference. Varric wrapped his arms around her neck, and with a shaky sigh, Bella put her arms around his torso and her head on his shoulder. And they stayed like that until the ugly crying died down to hiccups and croaks, until Varric finally pulled away.

“Feeling any better, Nightshade?” he asked hopefully.

“A little,” she rasped. She managed a small smile. “Thank you, Varric.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said with a soft sigh. “Now-” he stopped abruptly, his eyes on Bella’s arm, where the sleeves of her robe had slipped down to reveal one of the recently acquired scars around her wrist.

“Bella…”

“That’s nothing,” she said quickly as she pulled her sleeve back up. “It was just early. Before I got the hang of it.”

“The hang of  _ what _ ?!”

“Healing magic.”

Varric’s eyes widened, and he staggered backwards. “That- that’s what you were doing up Sundermount. You didn’t need space; no, you thought it would be a good idea to practice healing magic by-” He shook his head. “You could’ve killed yourself!”

“I didn’t, did I?” Bella snapped. “I saved myself, and now I can save other people too. Next time, when it’s you, or Isabela, or Aveline, I’ll be ready. I won’t let anyone else die!”

Varric’s face twisted, and he opened his mouth to yell something back. But instead, he sighed and shook his head. After a moment, he finally said, “You didn’t let any of them die.”

Bella swallowed thickly. “I could’ve saved them.”

“No you couldn’t have,” Varric said, “and that’s okay.”

Bella let out a shudder of a sigh and rubbed at eyes, dislodging the last of her tears. She dragged the sleeves of her robes down her tear-streaked cheeks, staring at the abandoned game of Wicked Grace, at her abandoned drink. She grabbed the tankard off of the table and swallowed as much as she could. Maybe if she just drank enough, she could believe her friend. Maybe it would make things okay.

But it hadn’t worked with Father and it hadn’t worked with Carver, and she knew it wasn’t going to start working now.

But that wasn’t going to stop her from trying.


	12. Chapter 12

“What happened after that?”

Varric let out a soft sigh. He had paused his story to give himself a moment to regain his composure. This Seeker was nothing if not impatient, though- and even more so now that she was getting a more intimate look at the Champion’s life. A censored intimate look, filtered by yours truly, but still much more detailed than Varric’s initial telling. Much more emotional.

“What do you think happened?” Varric asked.

Cassandra shook her head. “It has to get better, doesn’t it? It isn’t fair! Losing Malcolm, Bethany, Carver, and now Leandra too? And what about Isabela? Why won’t she move in, even when Bella needs her most?!”

A small smirk played on Varric’s lips. “‘Bella’?”

“The Champion,” Cassandra corrected quickly, cheeks darkening. “When the Champion needs her most.”

“I think you mean ‘needed’,” Varric added. “When the Champion  _ needed _ her most; we are talking about events that have already happened, after all. This isn’t a story- and if it was, it’d be a pretty bad one. Like you said, it isn’t fair, and there’s no guarantee that things get better, and in fact, they didn’t. This ‘story’ is pretty depressing from here on out.”

“I still want to hear it; that’s why I’m here. For the truth, no matter how depressing it is.”

Varric let out another sigh. “Well, the truth is you already know how things went from there. I found an invitation for the Champion to go to the same party her brother was at. I thought it would cheer her up, or at least take her mind off of things. Except then Tallis happened, and then the Champion came back to Isabela in a panic about her relic, and then the thing with the Qunari happened, and then she woke up the next day a hero- and now we’re back where we started.” Another sigh. The story only got harder to tell from there. “Onward?”

“Onward.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter today, but that's the end of Act 2! Act 3 is almost finished, so I'm not planning on stopping again, and I'll be back on Tuesday with the first chapter between Act 2 and 3.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I missed the update on Tuesday!! My mental and physical health are both kind of shot at the moment...

From the study, Fenris heard the door to the mansion open. Impeccable hearing was one of the many skills he had developed during his tenure with Danarius. After all, the consequences for mishearing a command, or missing a magister’s beck and call, were dire. But this was no magister, if the muffled shuffling steps were indication. A thief was much more likely.

“Feeeenris!”

_ Perhaps not. ‘Magister’ may have been closer. _

Fenris stood and strode out of the study, onto the balcony. He saw Bella stumbling in the foyer below. She gave him a lopsided grin as she continued on her trajectory towards the cellar door. “You haven’t finally drunk this place dry, have you?”

“Hello to you too, Bella.”

She made a dramatic show of rolling her eyes. “Yes, yes, hello, hello; it’s been  _ so _ long.”

“It’s been over a month since any of us have seen or heard from you,” Fenris reminded her.

“What, have you been  _ worried _ about me?” Bella laughed so hard she went careening into the wall. “Worried about a mage? Isn’t that, like, against your religion or something? Personal code of ethics or morality or whatever?”

Fenris nearly rolled his eyes. “You’re drunk.”

“Not drunk enough yet!” Finally recovering from her encounter with the wall, Bella was once again moving towards the cellar. “Polished off everything in the Hawke Estate, and you’re the closest source of free alcohol. All I need is a few bottles of fancy rich magister wine, and I’ll be off.”

“Bella-”

She cut him off with a groan. “You sound just like Varric and Aveline. ‘Bella this’ and ‘Nightshade’ that. I’m a goddamn adult, and if I know I’m making a bad decision, and I make it anyway, that’s my choice, okay?”

Babysitting drunk Bella was not Fenris’ idea of fun, but neither was the notion of telling Aveline he had let Bella get herself even more wasted without any supervision. So he sighed and said, “Very well, but at least stay here. We can…” would this be more tolerable if he was hammered too? Probably. “Get drunk together.”

“Ooh yay, companionship!” Bella let out another hysterical laugh. “Something to distract me from the crushing weight of being utterly alone!”

Fenris sighed as he walked down the stairs towards Bella. There wasn’t any need to respond to that, right?

He went down into the cellars alone and came back with two bottles of wine, one of which he offered to Bella as he led her into the study. She was more than happy to shut up and sit quietly in one of the chairs once she had the alcohol in hand. The silence almost made it nice, like they were two friends enjoying a quiet moment of solemn reflection. Not… whatever the hell they were. Fenris had known the woman for nearly five years now, and he still wasn’t sure what he considered them to be. She probably saw them as friends, but how could he possibly be friends with a mage?

_ Has she not proven that she’s not like the others?  _ Fenris thought as he watched the woman nurse her drink straight from the bottle, wordlessly shaking in one of his armchairs.

_ If nothing else, you’re concerned about her. That means you care about her. That means she’s your friend, doesn’t it? _

Fenris cleared his throat. “How have you been, Bella?”

She lifted her head, blinking and then laughing. “I thought it was pretty damn obvious.”

Fair enough. “Have you talked to anyone else recently?”

“For your information, I’ve  _ definitely  _ been talking to Bodahn and Sandal,” Bella replied. “Have  _ you _ talked to anyone recently? Last time I checked, all you do when you’re not fighting bad guys with me is brood in this mansion by yourself.”

“Isn’t that what you do when you’re not fighting bad guys with yourself? Brood in your mansion by yourself?” She pouted at him. “And I was referring to any other  _ friends _ .”

Cue dramatic eyeroll. “Okay, technically, no, but have you talked to any other friends recently?”

Had he? Isabela was gone, Aveline had been busy putting the city back together, Varric had been busy paying people to leave Bella alone, and he could hardly consider the other two mages to be his friends. Still, he couldn’t say no without sounding like a hypocrite.

“Anders has been stopping by occasionally,” Fenris offered. “He’s making very slow progress on repaying his Wicked Grace debts to me.” He paused as he heard the front door open for the second time that day, and he sighed as the newcomer called his name. “Speaking of. Try not to throw up on anything while I attend to your fellow apostate.”

He stood, making sure to bring the bottle of wine with him lest Bella try to claim it. Anders, of course, felt some irresistible urge to comment on it. “Is that for me? You’re too kind.”

“It’s mine,” Fenris snapped as he descended into the foyer.

“All of it?” Anders asked. “It’s a little early to start drinking your weight in alcohol, isn’t it?”

Fenris rolled his eyes. “If you really must know- and I’m sure you don’t, but it might get you to leave sooner- I’m keeping Bella company.”

At the mention of their friend, Anders shifted, a light flickering in his eyes. “Bella is here?”

“Yes.”

Anders brushed past Fenris, heading for the stairs. “I need to talk to her.”

Fenris frowned and moved to block Anders. “I’m sure if she wanted to talk to you, she would have visited you, or told Bodahn to let you visit.”

“This is important,” Anders insisted as he stepped around Fenris once more. Fenris followed, eager to protest that no matter how important it was, it could wait until Bella was ready to talk to him, but before he could, Anders called, “Bella?!”

There was a long pause before they heard shuffling steps, and Bella appeared in the doorway of the study. She sagged into the frame, grinning at Anders. “Blondie!”

Anders blinked. Not what he was expecting- but what else could he have been expecting from a woman who had locked herself in her dead family’s estate for the last month? “Bella.” He managed a smile of his own and continued walking up the stairs. “It’s been a while. I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

Bella’s grin vanished immediately. “About what?”

“About,” he paused to cast a dubious glance at Fenris, “something important.”

Fenris glared daggers at Anders’ back.  _ Something mage-related. _

“What is it?”

Anders paused again before turning to Fenris. “Do you have somewhere we could talk privately?”

“You could use somewhere that isn’t in my house,” Fenris muttered. He immediately regretted the bitter suggestion; he had a bad feeling about this, and he wanted to keep a close eye on Bella. With a sigh, he added, “Or I suppose you could go in the study.”

“Thank you,” Anders said as he rushed both himself and Bella into the study and shut the door behind them. Fenris huffed, shaking his head. Had he really just agreed to allow two mages to fraternize in his mansion? They could be plotting some kind of blood magic ritual, or a revolution, or-

_ Bella isn’t like that. _

_ All mages are ‘like that’. _

_ Not her. _

Fenris shook his head again and leaned against the wall. Less thinking and arguing with himself; more drinking and eavesdropping. He sipped from his wine and listened closely.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t hear much at first. And then…

“-and against all her blighted templars. You’re the person the mage revolution needs!”

More dull murmurs before, “... someone to lead them to freedom, and who better than a free mage with power and influence and respect? Who better than a hero like the Champion of Kirkwall?!”

Fenris heard muffled chatter, and then, “I don’t care!” Bella’s cry followed by a scuffle and thud. “I don’t care I don’t care I don’t care!”

“How could you say that?!”

“Because I don’t!” Bella cried. “And why should I?! I don’t want to be a hero; I don’t want to be a champion. I just want to be left alone to drink and be miserable! Do you even  _ care _ ?! I haven’t left my home in weeks, and you’re here telling me I have to- have to be some sort of revolutionary leader!”

“You do have to!” Anders exclaimed. “There’s no one else who can do as much for mages as you!”

“I. Don’t. Care. I don’t want to do  _ shit _ for any mages,” Bella snarled. “I just want to be left alone!”

“I’m sorry your poor  _ free _ life has been so hard, but-”

“It has been hard! My entire family is  _ dead _ , and-”

“Most Circle mages were torn away from their family as children!”

“That is not my problem!”

“YES IT IS!”

Fenris stiffened at the shift in Anders’ voice, the slide down into a low, gravelly growl.  _ Vengeance.  _ And Bella confirmed it with a callous, cackling laugh. “ _ Ooh _ , Justice, you’re here now? What are you gonna do? Kill me? Like you tried to kill that mage girl?”

Fenris burst into the study before the demon could respond (he wasn’t particularly eager to hear it anyway). He saw Anders towering over Bella while she leaned against the fireplace mantle to keep herself upright; the man was wreathed in blue and black, and his eyes were crackling with magic. And those crackling eyes fixed on Fenris as he drew his sword.

“You would threaten me?” the demon growled.

“You’re the one attacking my friend,” Fenris snapped. “Begone, or I will resort to force.”

Bella gasped. “Fenris, did you just call me your friend?!”

The demon’s eyes flashed. “Friend…” And just like that, it was gone, and Anders was back. But Fenris didn’t sheathe his sword, and he wasn’t convinced that this was much of an improvement. “Bella, I’m so-”

“Not another word,” Fenris hissed. “Get out of my mansion.”

Anders frowned and turned back to Bella, who still seemed far too preoccupied with Fenris calling her his friend to notice. “Bella-”

“Out.”

“I’m-”

“ _ Now _ .”

The mage let out a defeated sigh and began shuffling towards the door. As he passed Fenris, he pulled out a small sack of silvers and forced it into his hand. “Here. This is why I came by in the first place.”

Fenris rolled his eyes. “You’re too kind.”

Anders scowled at him before opening the door. There he paused before looking to Bella one more time. This time, she seemed to notice, and they stared at each other for a moment. “At least think about it. Please. We need you.”

And with that, he was gone.


	14. Chapter 14

“Why are we doing this again?”

“We’re worried about our friend.”

“Yes, but why am I doing this with  _ you _ ?”

“You said so yourself,” Merrill replied brightly, “because I’m the only option you have left. Aveline and Varric are too busy, Isabela is gone, and Anders has already made the problem worse.” She paused, frowning. She had been rather disappointed to hear about the fight between her two friends. That was the last thing Bella needed in her life right now.

Fenris let out yet another irritable sigh- the seventh of the day. Merrill had been keeping count. “How exactly do you plan on convincing Bodahn to let us in the house again?”

“It’ll be easy,” Merrill said. “We’ll lie.”

“And say  _ what _ , exactly?”

“That instead of coming to visit Bella, we came to see his son.” Merrill smiled as they crossed the bridge into Hightown. She was rather proud of her plan. “We’ll tell him you want to talk to Sandal about getting your tattoos removed, and while you’re talking to them, I’ll go talk to Bella.”

Fenris shifted uncomfortably. “I told you. I’ve tried before; they can’t be removed.”

“The dwarves don’t have to know that.”

“Why can’t you distract them with some of your silly mage nonsense?”

“Because this will work better,” Merrill insisted. “Sandal works with lyrium all the time; it’s reasonable for you to go to him for advice. I don’t expect they’ll know anything about repairing an eluvian, though.”

“That cursed thing should be destroyed, not repaired,” Fenris muttered.

“Your opinion on the eluvian is irrelevant- to both me and the issue at hand.”

Eighth irritable sigh of the day. “Fair enough.”

They walked in silence the rest of the way to the Hawke Estate. Merrill was the one to knock on the door, and Bodahn answered iy, wearing the same strained, apologetic smile he had had every other time Merrill had tried to see her friend since the Qunari attack.

“Hello Fenris, Merrill,” Bodahn said politely. “So nice of you to stop by, but I’m afraid Mistress Hawke still isn’t taking visitors.”

“Oh, we’re not here to see Bella,” Merrill assured him. “Fenris and I wanted to see your son.”

Bodahn blinked. “You do?”

Merrill looked at Fenris expectantly. The other elf suppressed his ninth irritable sigh in favor of nodding. “Yes. I was wondering if we might discuss my…” he raised his arms, showing off the lyrium tattoos, “condition.”

“Ah, of course. I’m sure he’d love to talk to you.” Bodahn stepped away from the door. “Please, come in. Sandal! Some of Mistress Hawke’s friends are here to see you!”

As they stepped inside, the young boy came into the foyer. His eyes widened as he saw Fenris, and he let out an excited laugh. “Enchanted!”

Merrill grinned. “Oh, I’m sure this will be very exciting. I’ll let the three of you talk alone and go make myself comfortable somewhere else in the house.” With that, Merrill wandered upstairs and, once the others had gone into one of the sitting rooms, headed towards Hawke’s bedroom. She approached the door softly and knocked on the door. “Bella? Are you in there?”

There was a pause, and then, “Merrill?”

Merrill took that as an invitation to open the door, and so she did. She found Bella inside, the fire in the hearth lit and an untouched plate of food on the nightstand. The Champion herself was strewn across her bed, staring up blankly at the ceiling.

“How did you get in here?”

“Lying,” Merrill offered. “Fenris and I told Bodahn that Fenris wanted Sandal to look at his tattoos, and I snuck up here to see how you were doing.” She paused, a frown forming as she crept closer to the bed. “How are you doing, Bella?”

“I’m painfully and unfortunately sober,” the other woman muttered, “and I don’t want to be checked up on; I just want to be left alone.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Merrill replied evenly. “I think you just wanted someone to put in the work to actually get to you.”

Bella was still for a moment before stirring underneath her sheets and sitting up. She stared at Merrill with her bright silver eyes, somehow dulled and distant. But finally she said, “You came here with Fenris?”

Merrill nodded. “He was plenty unhappy about it, but obviously he couldn’t bring Anders, and Aveline and Varric have been so busy lately, and he was too nervous to do it alone.”

“He could’ve brought Isabela,” Bella commented.

Merrill’s frown deepened. “No, he couldn’t. Isabela is gone.”

“...gone?”

“Oh, you didn’t know, did you?” Merrill mentally kicked herself. “I am so, so sorry Bella; I didn’t mean for you to find out like this. I thought you knew! She- the day after you woke up, after the fight with the Arishok, she just… disappeared.”

Bella began to shake in the bed. “Why?”

Merrill bit her lip. “Maybe she needed space- like you, after Leandra-”

“But I need  _ her _ ,” Bella interrupted sharply. “She already left me once, right after… when I needed her most, she- and then she came back, and I was so-” Bella’s voice trembled, and she dug her nails into her sheets. “And now she’s gone?” She let out a shaky laugh. “Well, now I’m definitely not doing well.”

Merrill grimaced and sat down on the bed beside Bella. When she wasn’t ordered to get off, she reached out to gently squeeze her friend’s shoulder. “What can I do to help?”

Bella laughed again. “I have no fucking clue. Isn’t that fun? I don’t even remember what it’s  _ like _ to- to be helped, or to feel better. Every time I try to think of some happy memory, there’s this…  _ darkness _ tinging it,” tears formed in her eyes, “poisoning every memory, every single moment…”

Merrill bit her lip again as tears traced down Bella’s cheek. “What about memories from Ferelden? Before everything got bad?”

“But it was bad even then,” Bella croaked. “Even then, there was Father, and I know- I know it was my fault, even then, and they,” she let out a sob, “they died not even knowing what happened to him! Because I couldn’t tell them, because I couldn’t tell anyone… Merrill, there’s something wrong with me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you!” Merrill protested.

“Yes there is,” Bella insisted through her tears. “I don’t… I don’t know how to  _ be happy _ ; I don’t think I ever knew, and I certainly don’t know how to be this- this hero Anders wants me to be. I don’t know how to do any of it.”

“You were happy with Isabela, weren’t you?”

“Some good that does me now!”

“Oh. Okay.” Merrill dug her teeth into her lip harder until she tasted blood, all the while racking her brain for something, anything she could say to help her friend. “What about when you’re playing cards with Varric?”

Bella shrugged. “Every time I think about it, I just think about-” she paused to tug at her sleeves, covering up the scars no one had ever gotten an explanation about, “about last time.”

“It won’t be like last time,” Merrill said, a second Bella-related scheme quickly forming in her mind. “I don’t know what happened last time, but  _ this _ time, Fenris and I will be with you.”

Bella blinked, wiping at her face with her sleeve. “What?”

“Let’s go play Wicked Grace with Varric,” Merrill replied, standing up, “you, me, and Fenris.” Bella seemed dubious, so she added, “If nothing else, you can get drunk.”

“I dunno. Didn’t you say Varric has been busy?”

Merrill shrugged. “I’m sure he’ll make time for his best friend.”

Bella picked at her sheets. “But what if- what if people  _ want _ something from me? Because I’m a Champion now?”

Merrill considered this for a moment. Varric had been paying a fortune to keep people who wanted something from Bella away from her, and no doubt he’d be able to get her the same kind of protection in the privacy of his room. But between Hightown and the Hanged Man?

“Oh, I have an idea,” Merrill announced. “It’s a little bit of magic Keeper Marethari taught me years ago. It won’t hide you completely, but it keeps people from getting a good look at you. She called it- a distortion charm. It makes people’s vision fuzzy whenever they try to see you, like squinting into the sun.”

“Yes,” Bella whispered hoarsely. “Maker’s breath, yes! Merrill—” Suddenly Bella was on her feet, and as the bed sheet fluttered down behind her, she launched herself at Merrill. She wrapped her arms around Merrill’s neck and pressed their lips together. Merrill flushed bright red, and though her heart pounded in her chest, she struggled against the other woman, pushing her away.

“Bella,” she gasped when she got an inch of space, “Isabela-”

“Isabela isn’t here,” Bella interrupted sharply, desperately. “But you,” her grip on Merrill tightened, her nails digging into the elf’s back, “you’re here. You’re here for me.”

It didn’t seem right. Bella had never expressed interest in her before, aside from the occasional witty flirt, and even those had died down once she and Isabela got involved. Yes, Merrill wanted this; she had wanted this ever since Bella strode into the Dalish camp with her cocky grin and a quip on her lips, but did she want it like  _ this _ ? As a mere convenience?

But Bella looked so desperate, clinging to her with all her might. And Merrill couldn’t imagine what her friend would do if she said no.

So instead, she gave Bella a reassuring smile and a peck on the lips. “Yes. I’m here for you.”


	15. Chapter 15

Aveline stepped into the Hanged Man with caution. It was silly, but after the disaster with Donnic, the place set the ends of her nerves on fire. She never had problems with anxiety back in Ferelden, but now, uncomfortable moments, nervous memories- they stayed with her longer than she would have liked.

_ It’s this damn city’s fault,  _ Aveline thought as she strode towards Varric’s room.  _ The city that still feels like it’s about to explode half a year after a crisis. _

If Aveline were being honest, she’d admit that it was probably less the city and more the people within the city she chose to spend time with. But Bella carried enough blame of her own making, and Aveline refused to make that worse.

Aveline knocked once on the door before inviting herself in. To her surprise, the only person inside was Varric, who was sitting at his desk writing something- and he seemed equally surprised to see her.

“Red! What are you doing here so early?”

“Early?” Aveline echoed. “You said we’d begin at 7:30. I’m ten minutes late; how am I the only one here?”

“Because none of the rest of us run on guard time,” Varric said, shaking his head. “No one else is going to show up for another half hour at least.”

Aveline shook her head as well. “Forgive me for being punctual.”

“Well, if you’re here, I suppose we can start getting set up.” Varric pushed his chair out and stood. “I have someone coming by with food soon. Come help me get the first round of drinks- I don’t have the hands to do it alone.”

Together, they headed back downstairs. Aveline half expected to see one of her friends come in while Varric rattled off orders at the bar, but no one showed up. Apparently everyone else had implicitly understood that they weren’t supposed to show up on time. Aveline sighed. This wasn’t the first time she had felt the void between her and the people she called her close friends, but it had only gotten worse since Bella had gotten worse. Did she even belong with these people without Bella to tether them together?

Isabela being gone certainly hadn’t helped either. Damn that annoying woman, but she had been Aveline’s friend, perhaps closest second to Bella. And Aveline remembered how proud she had been when she came back, the utter joy in knowing Isabela wouldn’t have were it not for knowing Bella. For knowing Aveline.

_ And then she had to go and leave again.  _ Aveline scowled at the corner of the bar she had come to associate with the pirate.

“Red.” Aveline blinked, drawn out of her thoughts by the sound of her name. She turned to see Varric with two pints of beer. The bar was lined with an additional pint and a bottle of wine. “A little help, Guard Captain?”

“Always happy to serve the people,” Aveline replied as she grabbed the alcohol. But Isabela had not yet fully released her thoughts, and as they headed back to Varric’s room, she wondered where she was. What she was doing. Why she had left. She glanced at Varric’s desk, covered in letters.  _ If there was anyone who knew…  _ “Varric-?”

“I don’t know where Rivaini is,” Varric said, “and no, I’m not just saying that because she asked me not to tell. I haven’t even tried finding her; she asked me not to.”

The dwarf’s astuteness astonished her, but only for a moment. “So? If asking was all it took to stop you from doing something, I would’ve done it years ago.”

“I don’t want to have to lie to Nightshade.” Varric put the pints down in front of two neighboring chairs- for him and Bella, probably. Then, he took the wine and beer from Aveline. “Hope you don’t mind acting as a buffer between Broody and Blondie.”

Aveline frowned. “Are Bella and Anders talking again?”

Varric shrugged. He set the beer opposite the beer on the left, and the wine opposite an unmarked chair. “She wanted him here. As long as he doesn’t bring up his grand crusade,” he shrugged again, “they should be fine.”

Aveline nodded. “I’ll sit between him and Fenris… but what do you mean about lying to Bella? If you found Isabela, we could track her down and drag her back to Kirkwall to apologize.”

“And how long would she stay before running off and breaking Bella’s heart  _ again _ ?” Varric asked. “I’m not thrilled about what’s going on between her and Daisy, but at least Merrill won’t disappear.” He paused and took a long swig from one of the mugs, probably in the hopes that Aveline would drop it. The same reason why he decided to bring up the seating arrangements.

“You’re usually more tactful than this,” Aveline commented.

“Indulge me, Red,” Varric replied. “It’s been a long year.”

“You’re telling me.” She paused. “I know that’s for Anders, but may I?”

“It’s all yours,” Varric said as he sat down. “I’m sure you need it.”

Aveline sat down across from Varric and began sipping at the coppery liquid. “So, what’s your issue with Merrill and Bella?”

“Besides the blood magic, the fact that Bella is clearly trying to distract herself from Isabela, and how little shit the two of them have together individually, let alone combined?”

“It has been helping Bella,” Aveline pointed out. “She’s actually leaving the estate.”

“Yeah, to come here and get hammered.”

“You know, for all your quips about how I’m the mother of this gang, you’re acting awfully paternalistic.”

“Indulge me, Red,” Varric repeated, softer this time. His grip tightened on his pint, and he shook his head, sighing into the alcohol. “She’s all I have left, and she doesn’t have that much left in her.”

Aveline considered this for a moment before asking, “Do you love her?”

Varric chuckled at that. “Honestly? I think there’s only one person I  _ can _ love, and it’s not her... but I care about her- so fucking much.” He paused, laughing again. “You better swear you won’t breathe a word of this to anyone; I can’t have it get out that I’m secretly a sap.”

“Not even to the only person you have left?” Aveline pressed. “If nothing else, it might make a nice birthday present.”

“What, throwing this party isn’t nice enough?”

Aveline shrugged. “I’m still not convinced that this is a party. This is what we used to do almost every night- well, what you used to do, anyway. And I don’t think my being invited makes it a party either.”

“This time there will be food,” Varric countered, “and unlike the last few times, Nightshade hopefully won’t get completely shitfaced during the first couple hands.” He paused, staring at his beer. “Besides, this is what she needs for her birthday. Not my sentimental crap, but all of us, playing Wicked Grace together, reminding her that we’re here for her. And maybe, if we’re lucky, just for one night, it’ll be enough to take her mind off all the people who aren’t.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for not updating last week! Mental illness has been killing me (not unlike my poor mage darling), but I am BACK and I now have all future chapters drafted, so it should be smooth sailing from here.

Bella laid on her side staring blankly at the fire crackling in the hearth. It must have been midday by now; Bodahn would be coming in any moment with lunch, which he’d carefully slide onto the dresser beside her uneaten breakfast. Just like he had the day before. Just like he had for the past week.

Bella let out a soft groan and rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling instead. She felt empty like this, just laying in her bed wasting the day away. But her body felt so hollow and fuzzy, like the only indication of her continued corporeality was the dull buzzing noise under her skin. And what else could she possibly do instead? She had been trying for the past week to think of alternative activities, but anything she thought of she could just as easily dismiss as a terrible idea.

“Maybe this time it’ll work,” Bella mused aloud. “A list of things I could do instead of being a lazy ass. One, eat the food Bodahn made.” 

_ I’m not hungry. Yes I am I haven’t eaten in like two days. And yet despite that fact, I’m not hungry. _

“Two, go visit Merrill.” 

_ She’s still busy helping with Alienage repairs from the storm. She probably doesn’t want to be bothered. After all, she’s only sleeping with you because she pities you! _

“Three, go visit Varric.”

_ And do what? Watch him pity you while you get wasted playing Wicked Grace? _

“Four, go to a bar in Hightown.”

_ Fucking goddamn alcoholic. No. _

“Five, go talk to Anders and tell him I’m ready to be the leader of the mage rebellion.”

_ That’s a load of bullshit and you know it. You know what? You should go talk to Anders and tell him you’re never going to be ready because you never will. And if you ever think you are, just remember what happens when people’s lives are in your hands. Remember what happened to Father, to Mother, to Bethany. And not just them. Ketojan. The Viscount. Seamus. Ninette. Alessa. You’ve gotten a lot of people killed. You don’t need any more blood on your hands, and you certainly don’t need the blood of innocent mages who died because you were trying to play hero. _

Bella groaned again, this time louder. “Well, that settles that, doesn’t it?”

After a few more minutes of staring up at the ceiling, Bella heard a knock on the door. Lunch. “Come in, Bodahn.”

But Bodahn entered the door without food. Instead, he had a worried look on his brow and a frown. “Terribly sorry to disturb you, Mistress Hawke, but you have a visitor.”

“You know I don’t want to see anyone.”

“You should really see her, ma’am,” Bodahn said. “It’s… it’s a templar.”

That got Bella to jolt upright, fear coiling in her stomach. Her mind began to spin as her pulse spiked and her fists clenched around the sheets. “A templar,” she echoed, tightening her grip on the sheets. “Just one?” Bodahn nodded. “I- I can take one templar. Easy.”

“She said she isn’t here for you,” Bodahn commented while Bella climbed out of bed. She was far from presentable- her pajamas were stained with sweat, and she hadn’t bathed or brushed her hair, which spilled down her back in brown tangled knots, in weeks. Not that she cared about looking nice for a Templar, but if she lost this fight, she was going to leave a handsome corpse. “She says she just needs to deliver a message from the Knight Commander.”

“And if I had to guess what that message is, I’m sure it would be ‘you’ve won yourself a free trip to the Gallows’,” Bella replied as she pulled her hair up into a ponytail. “Tell her I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

“... yes, Mistress Hawke.”

Bella shrugged out of her pajamas and grabbed her mage robes instead. She slid on a pair of matching purple gloves and soft leather boots. Once she was dressed, she reached under the bed, where she kept her staff and her packed rucksack. She pulled out the rucksack first, which she laid down on the bed- just in case. Then she grabbed her staff and, with it in hand, headed out of her room.

The templar- a blonde pale woman wearing a thin-lipped smirk- laughed as she descended the stairs. “Such distrust! Come, Champion, if Meredith really wanted you in the Circle, do you think she would have sent only one of us?”

Bella shrugged. Though the templar had a point, it did little to ease her nerves. “I’ve found you can never be too careful with your type.”

The templar simply widened her smile, revealing her white pointed canines. “The same could be said of yours.” The woman’s glittering green eyes left Bella as she began to pace about the foyer. She went to the armchair by the fire and picked at a spare frayed thread. “Of course, Meredith would never try to put you in the Circle. You’re doing far too much good for her out here.”

Bella blinked. “W-what?”

“I’m being terribly rude, aren’t I?” the templar continued, looking at Bella again. “I haven’t even introduced myself yet; I’m Knight-Lieutenant Rhonwyn.”

“That’s an awfully nice title for a messenger,” Bella commented, hoping to get underneath the woman’s skin, to reclaim some amount of ground in this conversation.

She failed, and Rhonwyn chuckled again. “Officially, my duty is to oversee the…  _ physical _ administration of the Right of Tranquility,” Bella was very glad she had her staff in hand as a shiver raced down her spine, “among other command things, of course. And Meredith sends me on errands like this when she requires a- different touch- than what Knight-Captain Rutherford can offer.” She toed at the carpet with disinterest. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s a lovely yes-man, but following along blindly is about all he’s good for- wouldn’t you agree?”

“I,” Bella swallowed thickly, trying to come up with something to say. Something clever and witty and utterly disarming. But all she could manage was a desperate, “What do you  _ want _ ?”

“Well, as I’m sure you know, the one-year anniversary of the Qunari attack is a week from today,” Rhonwyn said. As she spoke, she sauntered towards the writing desk. “The nobles have been working with the Chantry to put together a celebration of the day Kirkwall got itself a Champion. Of course, you need to be there. We’ve tried contacting you to let you plan some of the festivities, but.” She paused to rifle through the stack of unread and unopened letters Bella hadn’t had the energy to look at. “You must not have gotten the letters.”

Bella felt sick to her stomach. Rhonwyn’s sugary sweet smile, the thought of going outside, the thought of going outside for the express purpose of being paraded around as a hero, a  _ Champion _ \-- it was a miracle she didn’t throw up right then and there. She had to think of something to say. Anything to recover from this. “I’m surprised the templars are involved with this. Does Meredith really want to celebrate the fact that Kirkwall has been without a viscount for a year because of her?”

The templar’s mouth twisted, and for a moment, her saccharine smirk was gone. And then, “Do you know why Meredith would never throw you in the Gallows?” Rhonwyn began to move again, stalking towards Bella. “I’ve told her before that she should; your magic makes you a danger, a threat, and I would love to be the one to eliminate it. Publicly, of course- in a grand public display so all of Kirkwall could see their mighty Champion ruined.”

Rhonwyn stopped inches away from Bella, and with one gloved hand, she reached out, trailing her fingers across Bella’s forehead. “I think you’d look lovely wearing the sunburst brand.”

Bella swallowed thickly as she trembled. She adjusted her grip around her staff, clenching and unclenching her fists. “Get away from me,” she whispered hoarsely. Somewhere, she found her resolve. She swung her staff forward to knock Rhonwyn’s hand away from her, and she held the tip to Rhonwyn’s chest. “Get away from me.”

Rhonwyn snickered and batted the staff away. “So touch-”

Bella took her left hand away from the staff and raised it to her face. Eyes closed, she pinched the bridge of her nose, and a wave of energy rippled from her. Candles extinguished with a hiss, papers flew off the table, and, most importantly, Knight-Lieutenant Rhonwyn skid away from her and fell to the ground. Bella opened her eyes and smirked at the (rather satisfying) sight of the templar glowering up at her from the floor.

“If you ruined Kirkwall’s mighty Champion, you would have a noble uprising on your hands,” Bella stated. “Now-”

“A ‘noble’ uprising?” Rhonwyn echoed with a hiss. “Tell me, which nobles would be a part of this uprising, hmm? The ones you’ve been ignoring for the past year while you skulk around in your mansion drinking your way to an early grave?”

Bella scowled. “How the hell-”

“The Chantry has eyes and ears everywhere,” Rhonwyn snapped. “We’ve been watching you; we know how you’ve been spending your days since you became Champion. The reason why Meredith doesn’t need you in the Circle is because you are no threat to her. Hell, your complacency, your idleness, your refusal to challenge her in any capacity- you’re doing her a lot of good out here. You’ve all but endorsed her.”

Silence descended on the dark foyer as Bella stood there, shuddering and aching, pained by the truth. It was nothing she hadn’t heard before from Anders in his numerous attempts to rally her against the Templar Order. That by standing by and letting Meredith abuse her power, she was complicit in the horrors she and the rest of the Order were unleashing. But never had it caused her this level of anguish, of guilt. Maybe something about hearing how her extended year-long pity-fest was unjustified and selfish from this cruel woman was particularly damning.

Somewhere in Bella’s musing, Rhonwyn climbed to her feet, that reprehensible smirk back on her face. “I’ll see you in a week, dear. In the Chantry. At noon.”

With that, Rhonwyn left. 

For several minutes, Bella didn’t move. And when she did, it was to walk back upstairs. She found herself in her room in front of the vanity with a knife in hand. She brought it to her hair, sawing through the thick locks just above the hair tie. It came out messy and uneven, perhaps even worse looking than before, but Bella didn’t care. It was nice to finally shed so much weight.

An hour later, Bella was freshly washed and picking her way through Darktown. She stepped into Anders’ clinic with a long-lost smile on her lips. Her fellow mage was sitting on a bench, not currently attending to anyone. He looked up at the sound of her footsteps and raised an eyebrow.

“Hello, Bella.”

“Hello,” Bella echoed. She took a deep breath, allowing herself a moment to collect her thoughts. 

_ You should go talk to Anders and tell him you’re never going to be ready because you never will. And if you ever think you are, just remember what happens when people’s lives are in your hands.  _

_ Your complacency, your idleness, your refusal to challenge her in any capacity- you’re doing her a lot of good out here. You’ve all but endorsed her. _

“I’m ready.”

Anders’ eyes widened as he stood. “Really? You are?”

“Yeah.” Bella’s smile widened. “Let’s bring the Circle down.”


	17. Chapter 17

It was strange to be back in Kirkwall.

In many ways, it was like a breath of fresh air. Well, maybe not “fresh”, but it was certainly a breath of something Isabela had not found anywhere else in Thedas. Something she had missed more than she realized. A mix of sea air and salt, permeating up through the city and its winding maze of streets even as the distance from the shore grew. The sweat of too many bodies and too much filth packed into one space. A slight whiff of something metallic. She could not decide if it was from the gratuitous amount of coin circling through Hightown, or the centuries and centuries of blood, seeped into the stone.

She should have gone to the Hawke Estate first. Should have found Bella and apologized first and foremost before the other woman found out she was back by any means other than Isabela saying so. But her stomach was full of both butterflies and knots, eager anticipation to see the woman she had dreamed of for two years and fear that she would not receive the welcome she wanted- needed.

So instead, she went to the Hanged Man, her mind on a drink to steady her nerves.

Just being in the bar again did its part too. This was her home, after all. The sight of its familiar layout, filled to the brim with drunk men and cheap alcohol, and plenty of both spilled out across the floor too. It was enough to ease her pulse. Slightly.

“Isabela!”

She turned and saw Corff waving her over from the bar. She walked towards him with a smile. “Hello, Corff. Nice to see you again.”

“Nice to see you too,” Corff replied. “You get used to seeing someone at your bar for five years, and then suddenly one day they’re up and gone.” He shook his head. “Well, you’re back now; let me get you something- on the house.”

“You’re too kind. West Hill brandy.”

Corff set a shot glass down on the bar and filled it with liquor. “So, what are you doing back?”

Isabela knocked the brandy back before shrugging. “I was always going to come back eventually, and this… it just felt like the right time.” She paused as she rubbed her thumb over the shot glass. “Besides, I wanted to see a certain someone again.”

Corff laughed. “You know, I’ve been seeing a lot of your certain someone lately.”

She sat up a little straighter. “Really?”

He nodded. “She used to come around almost every other day.” He frowned. “It wasn’t exactly a pretty sight, but her friends have been keeping a close eye on her.” Isabela frowned as well, and the knots in her stomach coiled tighter. “But she’s been getting better!”  _ Better than what?  _ “Comes around less frequently, drinks less. And if you want to see her, I think she’s in her room right now.”

“ _ Her  _ room?” Isabela echoed.

“Yeah, she bought a room here a few weeks back. She and that Ferelden healer have been, well,” Corff paused and looked around the bar before leaning in close, his voice dropping, “let’s just say we don’t want any templars finding them, yeah?” He pulled away, the severity in his voice and countenance gone in a moment as he smiled. “You know, she requested your old place.”

Isabela’s cheeks warmed, and she twisted the glass in her hands. Sentimental. Surprisingly sentimental. But then, she had had plenty of sentimental moments over the past two years herself. Dreams of laying in that impossibly large bed, on top of thick red sheets and plush pillows with Bella in her arms. Waking up with fleeting memories of her voice, snatches of her laugh, her smell. In a moment, comforted by the reverie, and in the next, frightened by how badly she could miss one person.

“Well, I should go see her, then.” Better to go see her now than risk having her come down to the bar and see Isabela. “Thanks for the drink.”

Corff smiled. “Don’t mention it.”

Isabela smiled as well, but only as she turned away from the bar. She tried to keep smiling while she walked across the room, but her stomach had decided to aggravate her again. She stepped uneasily, unsure, unnerved. Damn Bella for doing this to her.

Eventually though, somehow, she found herself in front of her old room. She stilled to listen for noise, but she didn’t hear anything. Not a whisper or a breath. So she went for the door.

Like far too many doors that Isabela had encountered in her lifetime, this one had a trap behind it- a white glyph scorched into the wood. It wasn’t the only one; the floor, the walls, almost everything was covered in glowing sigils and pulsing runes. And in the center of it all was a large wooden desk covered with maps of the city. And behind it were Bella and Anders. Already on their feet. Chairs clattering to the ground. Staves drawn.

For the first time in two years, they made eye-contact. Silver on brown. “Isabela!”

She blinked. “You cut your hair.” In her dreams, Bella’s hair was always long. Past her shoulders and unkempt. She had cut it down, though. Everything off the back was gone, leaving only dark puffed-up curls at the top. It looked nice.

“Stop staring at each other and close the door,” Anders snapped. He waved his hand, and some of the glyphs on the floor vanished, clearing the way into the room.

“You don’t need to be snappy,” Isabela shot back before stepping into the room, shutting the door behind her.

Anders stowed his staff and folded his arms. “I also don’t need any off-duty templars walking by and seeing two apostates planning a rebellion.”

“In that case, you should lower your voice,” Isabela said. “These walls aren’t thick.”

“What do you think the glyphs are for?” Anders asked. “No one-”

“What are you doing here?” Bella suddenly interrupted.

Isabela grimaced. “I’m back.”

“Back? Just like you came ‘back’ with the tome?”

“No,” Isabela said, bristling. She hadn’t expected the warmest of welcomes, but to have the best deed of her life thrown back in her face? “Because this time I’m staying.”

Bella folded her arms as well, shaking her head. “You should have stayed then too, but you didn’t. It makes it a bit difficult to believe you this time around.”

“That’s rich coming from you. You’re the one who scared us all half to death by disappearing up Sundermount for  _ weeks _ without so much as a word to any of us- to  _ me _ .” Isabela watched Bella’s cheeks flush, and the other woman opened her mouth. Isabela pushed forward anyway as she strode further into the room. “And don’t tell me it’s not the same thing because it is. I needed space; you needed space. I thought you of all people would understand that.”

“I did not-” Bella balled her fists. “You have  _ no _ idea what you’re talking about.”

“Yes I do,” Isabela snapped, “because I know you. You always think everything’s your fault. What happened to Leandra, to Carver, to Bethany. And I-” her voice snagged in her throat, “when I saw you after the fight with the Arishok, bleeding and bruised and barely alive, I knew… I knew no small part of that was my fault.” She inhaled sharply, trying to steady her breath, her heart, anything. “I needed time and space to come to terms with that. But I came back again for you, and this time, I’m staying.”

The anger in Bella’s face slowly drained, replaced by a look Isabela couldn’t quite place. Eyes wide and mouth slightly open, like she was perpetually about to say something, on the verge of dislodging the words caught in her throat.

But before either of them could say anything else, there was a knock on the door- or, more precisely, two light taps and one heavy thud. Bella blinked, and in a moment, the look, whatever it was, was gone. She locked her jaw, stowed her staff, and brushed past Isabela, moving swiftly towards the door. Isabela spun around to watch her as she waved her hand, another glyph vanishing off the wall.

Bella opened the door just a crack. “ _ Per ignem… _ ”

From the other side, a voice came. “ _...liberi erimus _ .”

Bella swung the door open, and a small boy with dirt flecking his brown cheeks stepped inside. Bella cast up the glyph again and closed the door behind him. Anders suddenly became much more interested in what was going on, striding over to the boy quickly.

“Aster. What is it?”

“Information on the templar raid on Evera’s place, sir,” Aster said. “It’s happening tonight.”

“Tonight?” Anders echoed.

“Shit.” Bella shook her head. “They still have two, three mages living with them?”

“We need to get the mages out of Kirkwall,” Anders said with a nod, “and move Evera somewhere else.”

Bella began to pace about the room, not the slightest break in her stride as she stepped around the scorched wards. “No, no, if we move Evera, the templars will know we’re onto them.”

“We can’t just let them take them.”

“They’re not a mage; the templars  _ can’t _ take them,” Bella pointed out, “and, if there’s no evidence they were hiding the mages, then the city guard can’t take them either.”

Anders snorted. “The templars don’t particularly care for legality. If they get their hands on Evera, they’ll torture the whereabouts of the escaped mages out of them.”

Bella shook her head again, eyes on the floor while she made another lap about the room. “No… no, not unless…” She looked up abruptly, her gaze coming to Aster. “Aster, go tell Corff what’s happening. Then go to the Alienage and get Revas to tell Lady Elegant and Merrill about this; tell Revas I’ll give her ten sovereigns next time she comes around, and there are twenty for you for doing this.”

“Bella, what are you planning?” Anders interrupted.

“Don’t you see? We need to make a spectacle out of this,” she insisted as she rounded on him. “Get the mages out and get as many people as we can to Evera’s so they can be witness to the Templar Order and their atrocities.”

For a moment, the room was silent as Anders slowly nodded. “That… that could work. But we have to move quickly if we’re going to do it. One of us should warn Evera; the other needs to find a way to get the mages out of Kirkwall.”

“I can go to the Docks,” Bella offered. “I know a half dozen smugglers and legitimate merchants alike who owe me favors. Some gold to sweeten the deal, and we can at least have them on boats by tonight.”

“I’ll go to Evera’s then,” Anders said, moving towards the door. “Don’t forget the locking ward this time.”

Bella rolled her eyes. “I won’t.” 

With that, Anders left. For a moment, Isabela stared at the door. Her door. The door she had spent years watching, waiting for her past to catch up with her. The door that was no longer hers, but instead swept up in this, this thing she couldn’t fully make sense of. This thing that was keeping her from reuniting with Bella. It swung shut behind him with a thud.

Isabela turned back to her once beloved, who was fumbling with her purse. She produced a handful of coins, glinting gold even in the poor light of the oil lamp in the far corner. She handed them to the little boy, and his eyes went wide. 

“Remember, Aster- tell Corff what’s happening. Tell him to send anyone he can to Evera’s tonight. Then tell Revas to tell Lady Elegant and Merrill the same thing, and to come by in three days for her reward.”

“Yes ma’am,” Aster said before ducking out of the room as well.

And then it was just the two of them again. Alone in this room again. For the first time, Isabela realized the bed where they first made love was gone.

“Right,” Bella murmured, stirring the silence with her voice. She grabbed her staff once more and began to draw shapes in the air, scoring the wood once more with magic.

“Wait.”

Bella paused, then lowered her hands. “Isabela…”

“What’s going on here?” Isabela demanded. “What just happened.”

“You were the one who said I should run a revolution out of my estate, weren’t you?” Bella asked as she moved to face Isabela. “Well… that’s what I’m doing. Well, not out of my estate; that wouldn’t be safe. But that’s what Anders and I are doing. Running what’s left of the Mage Underground. Preparing for a rebellion.”

“That’s…” Isabela shook her head. “That’s incredible. How is it going?” She paused. “How can I help?”

“You want to help?”

“I’m not usually one for noble causes but,” Isabela shrugged, “freedom is worth fighting for. Besides,” she smirked, “I’d be lying if I said you’re not very sexy when you’re giving orders and planning insurrection.”

She had been expecting a small smile, hoping for a laugh and a smirk. Instead, she got a grimace, and Bella’s eyes fell to the floor. “You can help if you’d like, but… I don’t think we can go back to what we had before.”

“Listen, I’m sorry for leaving, okay? Is that-”

“It’s not that,” Bella interrupted. “I mean, it is, partially, but— ” She trailed off again before dragging her gaze up to meet Isabela’s once more. “I’m with Merrill now.”


	18. Chapter 18

Merrill woke up to rays of sun in her eyes and an empty bed. Blinking sleepily, nose wrinkled, she rolled onto her stomach, burying her face into the pillows. Now to be clear- she loved waking up early, loved getting a head start on the day, which is why she almost always woke up before Bella. Which is why if the other woman was already awake and opening the blinds, it must truly be  _ too _ early to be awake.

“Bella,” she mumbled. “Go back to sleep.”

She heard footsteps crossing the room. “I can’t hear you, love.”

Merrill flipped back onto her back, pulling the sheets over her head to hide the dreadful light. “Go back to sleep,  _ vhenan _ .”

“I can’t.”

“It’s too early, Bella. Come back to bed.”

“I  _ can’t _ ,” Bella snapped. Merrill peeled the sheets away so she could see the human, who was sitting by the vanity with a grimace. “Sorry. Sorry. I’ll close the blinds in a minute; I promise.”

“What are you doing?” Merrill asked.

“Getting ready.” She twisted in her chair to stare at herself in the mirror. “I know it’s not for hours, but…” She trailed off as she reached into a drawer and pulled out a silver brush.

“Are you nervous?”

“Nervous? Me?” Bella dragged the brush through her thick nest of hair. “Merrill, when have I  _ ever _ been nervous?” She let out a particularly unconvincing and shaky laugh. “I’m just still not sure about this. Will it even work? And even if it does work, isn’t it still…” Merrill watched her face twist in the mirror. “Selfish?”

“You’re allowed to be selfish sometimes.”

“That’s been my excuse for doing nothing for the last two years.” She set the brush down. She held one hand up, and sparks flew from her fingers and into her hair. In an instant, the locks curled upwards. “I could spend today tracking down Meredith’s missing apostates and getting them out of Kirkwall.”

“And instead you’re going to spend the day with me and Isabela,” Merrill said, “and we’re going to have a lovely time- all three of us, together.”

Bella sighed, reaching for her makeup next. “I have to get to them before the templars do, or before something happens to them.”

“We’ll look for them tomorrow. This is important too.”

“Is it?”

“Yes!” Merrill sat up, unable to continue this argument lying down. “Ever since Isabela came back, things have been awkward, not just between the two of you, but for all of us. She was barely speaking to me before I suggested we try to be  _ bell’ath _ . We need to try this.” She bit her lip. “ _ I  _ need to try this.” She had convinced herself if they didn’t, it would be the end of their relationship.

After a pause, Bella said, “Okay.” She stood up and strode over to the window. She grabbed the drapes and shut them before rejoining Merrill in bed. Merrill laid back down, and they wrapped their arms around each other. “I’ll finish getting ready when you wake up.”

“Thank you,  _ ma vhenan _ .”

A few hours later, after they had both gotten up and gotten ready, they were out of the Hawke Estate. They made their way through Hightown to a Nevarran coffeehouse by the Merchant’s Guild square. The small shop had once been one of Hightown’s nicest taverns, which, according to Aveline and several noble witnesses, Bella had gotten herself banned from five years ago. Bella herself said she didn’t remember the incident, but enough of Kirkwall’s nobility did to get the tavern shut down after she became the Champion of Kirkwall.

In any case, it was now a Nevarran coffeehouse owned by a brown-skinned dwarf named Ceyhun. Despite Kirkwall’s ever-growing distrust of foreigners after the Qunari attack, it was doing quite well. Mostly thanks to Merrill’s frequent Bella-enabled patronage. Merrill’s memories of her time in Clan Alerion were murky and fabricated at best, but something about the smell of tea leaves and coffee cherries still comforted her.

For that reason (and the fact that it no longer served alcohol), it made the perfect location for their… experiment.

As they walked in, Merrill noted the dark wood tables were sparsely populated. A group of dwarves were playing Diamondback near the back right corner, where runes inscribed on the floor kept pots of tea and coffee warm. Other than them, the only customer was Isabela, who was already set up at a circular table with a ruddy kettle and three mugs.

Merrill walked over to her and sat down. After a moment, Bella sat down beside her. “Hello, Isabela.”

Isabela flashed them a strained smile. “Merrill. Bella. Hope you don’t mind; I went ahead and got us something.”

Bella glanced dubiously at the pot. “If that’s coffee—”

“I haven’t forgotten your rule about bitter things,” Isabela assured her.

“That it isn’t worth it if it isn’t getting me drunk.”

Isabela nodded. “This is mint tea; it’s rather sweet. Do you want some?”

Bella gave a tight nod as Isabela filled up a mug and nudged it across the table. Bella wrapped both hands around it, clutching it so tight her knuckles blanched. Merrill barely stifled her wince.  _ By Mythal, this is never going to work if we’re all so nervous. _

“I’ll have some too,” Merrill spoke up.

“Here.” Isabela repeated the same process with the final mug. For an agonizing minute afterwards, they sat in tense silence, each grounded only by the heat seeping through the clay mugs they clung to. Finally, though, Isabela exclaimed, “Oh! Before I forget, Kitten, I have something else for you.” Isabela reached into her pocket and produced a stack of cards. “I saw these while I was— away, and immediately thought of you.”

Merrill took the cards and turned them over in her hands. It was a Wicked Grace set, and on the back of each card was a black kitten batting at a daisy. “Oh, Isabela, these are adorable!”

“Just like you,” Isabela and Bella said in unison, causing both women to blush.

“I figured you should have a deck of your own,” Isabela continued, rubbing her neck, “if only so we don’t always have to play with mine. I’m fairly sure after another dozen games or so, they’ll disintegrate.”

“Where did you get them?” Merrill asked as she thumbed through the deck.

“Llomerryn,” Isabela answered. She took a sip of tea and added, “Rivain.”

“So that’s where you were?” Bella asked quietly. Merrill tensed, afraid that their conversation was moments away from dissolving- or worse, exploding. And perhaps Bella sensed it too because in the next moment she chuckled. “Funny.”

Isabela raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“I’ve spent the last year or so trying to find information on Rivain,” Bella explained. “Anders and I haven’t discussed anything long-term yet, but it’s going to come eventually, and the two large-scale models we have are Tevinter and Rivain. The Imperium isn’t an ideal reference point, for obvious reasons, but it’s almost impossible to find anything on Rivain.”

“Well, the Chantry does hate us,” Isabela said, “and the rest of Thedas thinks we’re a country of immoral pirates.”

“Who have somehow figured out how to minimize demon possession without locking up children in prison.” Bella shook her head. “The Seers are proof that we don’t need Circles- more proof, anyway, along with every single Dalish Clan, the Avaar, etc.”

Isabela chuckled. “You have been spending a lot of time with Anders, haven’t you?”

“We’re partners in crime,” Bella replied, a smirk on her lips as she lifted her mug.

“We’re partners in crime too!” Merrill protested. “I’ve been helping just as much as anyone in the Underground.”

“You have,” Bella said. She sipped from her mug before leaning over to peck Merrill’s cheek. To Isabela, as she set the mug down, she added, “And you want to help now too, right?”

Isabela nodded. “If I can- though I heard from Varric that the Underground was destroyed.”

“Almost completely,” Bella confirmed with a grimace. “We have a handful of contacts outside of the Underground, people who have helped mages before or are apostates themselves, like Grace, Ella, and Samson, but we haven’t been able to reach them. Anders thinks the templars have been getting ahold of our letters. I still think if we can get our hands on Aveline’s seal-”

“Bella,” Merrill interrupted softly. “You can always work on this tomorrow.”

Bella blinked for a moment before nodding. “My apologies to both of you; I didn’t mean to derail our date with my conspiring. I do believe a change in subject is in order.”

They were all silent for moment, drinking their tea quietly as they thought. Or at least, Merrill was thinking, racking her brain for something lighter to talk about. Finally, Isabela asked, “So, Merrill, how is that magic mirror thing coming along?”

“Oh!” Merrill straightened in her chair immediately, always ready to talk about her passion project. “Terribly!”

The rest of the afternoon passed similarly, exchanging light chatter and cheek-kisses over warm mint tea. Somehow they ended up back in the Hawke Estate, and the evening came to a close in Bella’s bed with a symphony of wet kisses and heavy moans. The bed was a little more crowded with three people, but Merrill could hardly say she minded, especially when she somehow ended up in the coveted spot between Isabela and Bella while they snuggled.

And as they all began to drift off, Bella mumbled, “Thank you, Merrill. You were right.”

“About what?” Merrill asked.

“This,” she said. “We needed this. I needed this. And it worked. This  _ bellalath _ thing worked.”

“ _ Bell’ath _ ,” Merrill corrected with a yawn.

“We call it polyamory,” Isabela spoke up, her voice a sleepy murmur.

“Whatever we call it,” Bella yawned as well, “my point is it works.”

Merrill smiled. “I knew it would,  _ var vhenan _ .”

She watched Bella wrinkle her nose in the darkness. “I definitely know that one. Isn’t it  _ ma _ ?”

“Not anymore,” Merrill murmured. She shifted, turning over onto her other side so she could nuzzle Isabela’s neck. “Now it’s  _ var _ . Now it’s  _ our _ . Our heart.”


	19. Chapter 19

That night, Anders made sure to get to the Hanged Man early because he knew Bella would get there early. She’d have a drink to steady her nerves, and then a drink to forget what had happened just hours earlier on the Wounded Coast, and by the time Wicked Grace night began, she would be decently forgetful, and that was about as good a substitute for happiness as she had these days. And he needed to talk to her before she forgot.

He positioned himself at their usual table, facing the door so he saw her the moment she stepped in. She saw him as well. They made eye contact briefly before she turned away and headed to the bar, a slight scowl on her face. There was no point in pretending he got here early for social reasons; she knew this was about business. It was always about business for them.

A few minutes later, she joined him at the table with a foaming mug in hand. “Don’t say something that’s going to make me wish I had ordered something stronger than beer,” she warned as she sat down.

“Bella, we need to talk about what happened,” Anders insisted.

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” Bella said. “I’m here to have a damn good time tonight, not think about how people we’ve helped kidnapped my brother and tried to kill us.”

Anders shook his head. “Waiting even one day could be too late. We need to come up with a plan now.”

“A plan to do  _ what _ ?” she snapped. “Smuggle more mages out of the Circle? Because as far as I can tell, given how many mages we’ve ‘saved’ are dead, we’ve failed pretty spectacularly on that front.”

Anders sighed. “The blood magic is disappointing, but—”

“You think I give a rat’s ass about them using blood magic?” Bella interrupted sharply. “I’m in love with a blood mage, for Andraste’s sake. What I care about is how many of them turn to blood magic and try to  _ murder us _ !” She shook her head and took a swig from her mug. “Anders, please, just drop it. If you keep pushing me on this, I’m going to decide I’m done.”

Anders folded his arms. “Done with what?”

“ _ This _ .” With one hand, she raised her mug to her lips, and with the other, she gestured vaguely to the space between them. “Being your hero. Your revolutionary.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I swear I do.” She set her mug down again, wrapping both hands around it tight. “I want to keep fighting, and I want to believe that this fight is going to produce some marginal amount of good, but if I have to talk about this now, I’m going to realize that nothing is going to come out of this, and that this fight is pointless.” Her face twisted, and her gaze dropped to the table. “Short of starting a fucking war? It’s over; the templars won.”

The despair in her voice made him shake as Justice quivered inside him. “We could do that, you know. Start a fucking war.”

“And get more people killed than we have already?” She shook her head and picked up her mug again. Into her beer, she muttered, “I told you to drop it.”

“I can’t just drop it; people are dying, whether we do anything about it or not,” Anders insisted, “or worse, they’re being made Tranquil. We might not be able to change that, but if we don’t try, things will never get better.”

Bella grimaced as she ran her hand through her hair. “How many times have we had this conversation before?”

“Too many,” Anders said flatly.

“You would think our combined stubbornness would have been enough to bring down the Circle by now,” she said with a strained laugh. Silence settled between them as she rubbed her thumbs in small circles on the mug. After a minute, she softly asked, “Do you really think we could? Start a fucking war?”

Anders opened his mouth to say  _ yes _ , of course they could. They could stop working from the shadows, stop trying to change the Grand Cleric’s opinion on the Circle, stop trying to come to a peaceful solution. They could finally make good on the Tevinter phrase they used as their password.  _ Per ignem liberi erimus.  _ By fire, we will be free.

“Nightshade.” The words died in Anders’ throat, and he turned to see Varric walking towards them. The dwarf slid into the seat to Bella’s left. “Blondie.”

Anders fought to keep a scowl off his face, opting for a sigh instead. “We’ll talk about this more tomorrow, yeah?”

“Probably- depends on how hungover I am,” Bella replied with a shrug.

“Did I interrupt something?” Varric asked.

Bella glanced at Anders before shaking her head. “Just a bit of business.”

“Ah.” That was sufficient to keep Varric from prying, and after a few awkward, silent seconds, he stood up and made his way to the bar. For a moment, Anders considered returning to their business, but before he could, Fenris and Aveline walked into the tavern. He didn’t know if Bella had told them what they had been up to in the last year or so, but he certainly hadn’t, and he was sure they wouldn’t approve.

Fenris headed to the bar while Aveline sat down beside Anders. “Hello, Bella. Anders.”

“Aveline,” they both said. Bella added, “I’m surprised to see you here; you haven’t been able to make it to any of the games for months.” She flashed a smile. “I was getting worried you had realized you were too good for us.”

“Not yet, I haven’t,” Aveline replied, wearing a smile of her own. “Besides, after what happened today,” both of their smiles vanished, “well, I wanted to make time. I could use a distraction.”

“You’ve come to the right place, Red.” Varric sat back down beside Bella with a pint in hand. “As soon as Rivaini and Daisy get here, we can begin.”

“Who’s deck are we using?” Fenris asked as he slid into the seat next to Aveline.

Bella patted her pockets. “I think I left mine at the Estate.”

“I can go grab mine from upstairs,” Varric offered.

“I have my deck,” Fenris said. He pulled out his set. The cards were sturdier and newer than those in Bella, Isabela, or Varric’s deck, and their backs were adorned with a white wolf against a starry dark blue backdrop. Anders didn’t care much for their owner, but the cards were pretty.

Bella reached out across the table. “Give them here.”

Fenris swatted her hand away. “Like I’m letting you cut the deck. They’re my cards; I deal them, and I start.”

As Fenris began to shuffle, Aveline asked, “Are we just waiting on Isabela and Merrill? Carver isn’t coming?”

Bella gave a harsh bark of laughter at that, followed immediately by a swig of beer. “Carver ran out of Kirkwall as quickly as he could while wearing all that Grey Warden armor.” She paused, mouth curling downwards. “Barely even said goodbye.”

“Can you blame him?” Fenris asked while he dealt. “Being kidnapped by demented blood mages is enough to rattle anyone- even someone as strong as Carver.”

Bella’s grimace worsened. “Well, it’s his loss,” Anders stated.

Varric snickered. “Blondie, you’re just upset that without Carver, you’re practically guaranteed to lose harder than any of us.”

“I’ve been getting better!” Anders protested.

Now Fenris chuckled as well. “Is that why you still owe me- what was it, fifteen sovereigns?”

“ _ Fifteen _ ?” Aveline echoed, clapping her hands together. “Anders!”

Anders scowled. “I’ll remind all of you, I don’t get paid for my healing.”

“I’m not interested in the money,” Fenris said, “but I do enjoy reminding you of your losses.”

Anders let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head, looking away as the conversation continued without him. He saw Merrill and Isabela come into the Hanged Man and walk towards the table. They fell into the seats to Bella’s right, which were already marked by cards. Bella sat still even as the other women began to say their hellos and offer their apologies for being late. Anders watched Isabela touch her shoulder; Bella jerked at the sensation, blinking rapidly.

It was hard to make out the words over the other chatter, but he heard Isabela murmur, “... alright, love?”

“Fine.” The word was more formed than spoken, a shape rather than a sound- so soft, it instantly evaporated into the bar’s din. Anders only knew what she had said based on the movement of her lips. 

Bella drained the rest of her drink and tried again. “I’m fine.” She stood. “I need another round- do you and Merrill want anything?”

“West Hill Brandy,” Isabela said, and Merrill added, “Can I share your beer?”

Bella nodded. She stood up and went to the bar, one hand already in her purse. For a moment, Anders was painfully reminded of an evening six years ago. This bar, this game- not this table, of course, and not these people. Not all of them, anyway. But still watching Bella head to the bar between rounds, her cards laid bare for Anders and Carver to rifle through- the only time he had ever gotten along with the younger Hawke was when they were cheating at Wicked Grace.

After a minute, she came back to the table, balancing the drinks in her hand. And as she sat down, he became acutely aware of the one thing that had changed. The one reason this wasn’t that night, wasn’t any of those nights from six years ago. And it was the look on her face. The mischievous glint in her eye, the quirk in her lips, the light in her face. It was gone, robbed by years of death and loss and blood. And whatever she had managed to keep, whatever she had carved out for herself, she did not want to lose as well.

She was still selfish, and this realization did not excuse that. But it did explain it.

_ Would we really force her to lose more? _

**_What else can we do?_ **

_ Start a war. _

**_Start a war._ **

_ Without her- without any of them. _

**_She is right. It is the only way. But we cannot do it while the Grand Cleric intervenes._ **

_ Then we have to get rid of her. Kill two birds with- _

“Anders.”

The thought that had begun to bloom in his mind vanished in an instant at the sound of his name and a hard clap on the shoulders. He blinked, then scowled at Aveline and shifted his shoulder out of her grasp.

“Are you in or not, Blondie?” Varric asked. Everyone else had some amount of money on the table, little pools of dull silver across the wood.

**_Why are we here? We are wasting time._ **

_ And wasting money. _

“Not.” Anders slid his cards across the table as he stood up. “I have to go.”

To his mild surprise, no one tried to stop him. Sure, Aveline and Varric came by the clinic the next day, asking if he was alright, if everything was okay. Nothing was okay, but he lied and they left him alone to plan his assassination in peace. Bella didn’t visit, despite their verbal agreement to continue talking business, but that suited Anders just fine. For his part, he didn’t bring it up again either, and that seemed to suit her fine as well.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay!! A surprisingly large amount of work popped up for me the week before the semester ended, so I've been working my ass off to get that done. But! That finished Tuesday, so my summer has officially begun, and now... here's the penultimate chapter of A Game of Wicked Grace (starring everyone's favorite grumpy younger brother)!

As Bella dragged him into the Hawke Estate, Carver made one last-ditch effort at persuading her to let him go. “I have to get back to the Wardens.”

“Fuck the Grey Wardens,” she replied, as she had replied the last three times he had brought it up. “They can spare you for one more day, and besides, this is the second time you’ve gotten yourself kidnapped in two months, and last time, you left without a word.” She pulled him into her room and shoved him towards the table by the fire before marching towards her bed. “Not this time. Not this time.”

Carver sighed and reluctantly sat down. “Fine, but I can’t stay long.”

Bella grunted in response while she pulled a bottle of whiskey out from under the bed, and Carver gave himself a moment to study his sister. It had been two years since he had well and truly seen her. Recovering from being kidnapped by demented blood mages didn’t count. And neither did trekking through the Deep Roads to kill a demented former blood-mage darkspawn magister  _ thing _ .

But now, he could see how the years since their mother’s death and becoming the Champion of Kirkwall had worn on her. She looked exhausted. Better than she had in Orlais when she was always a moment from breaking down into tears, better than she had the night she became the Champion when she had begged him for the second time to stay. But still exhausted.

_ She’s probably going to ask again.  _ Bella rubbed at her eyes and the bags that had formed under them before crossing back to the table, whiskey and two crystal glasses in hand.  _ It’s getting so much harder to say no. _

As Bella filled up Carver’s glass, he distracted himself by focusing on the alcohol instead. “Varric told me you drank everything we had here.”

“Almost everything,” she corrected. “He didn’t know about this.”

There was something familiar about the half-empty bottle. It had a red ribbon tied around the neck and the scent of alcohol and cedar wood and fire and  _ home _ . Watching liquid slosh from its mouth, memories of a towering man with broad hands and a broader grin flooded Carver’s mind, and he could hear the rumble of Malcolm Hawke’s voice. Never speaking words, but making warm indistinct noise.

“That’s Father’s favorite brand.”

Bella gave him a small smile and shook the whiskey. “Father’s favorite  _ bottle _ .”

“You took that from Lothering? Why?”

She slid into the seat across from him. “I needed it. The first year after he died, on the anniversary, I went looking for it. Mother hid it away, like she hid everything of his, but I found it.” She stared at the bottle for a moment before shrugging. “I’m not sure what I wanted from it; maybe just to have something of his, something I had seen him with so many times before. I drank from it then, and I’ve drunk from it every year on that day since.”

Carver frowned. “This isn’t that day, is it?”

“No, but given the circumstances, I think we can make an exception.” She raised her glass, and Carver copied the gesture. “Cheers.” She clinked their glasses together. “To Father.”

“To Mother.”

“To Bethany.”

“To us.”

Bella’s face twisted for a moment before she echoed, “To us. The last Hawkes left on this miserable planet.” With that, she knocked her whiskey back with one easy, practiced gesture which Carver mimicked. Together, they slammed their empty glasses down on the table, and Bella moved to fill them back up.

“Are you ever going to tell me what happened to him?” Carver asked softly.

“I probably should,” Bella replied. “Everytime I think about how Mother and Bethany died not knowing, I feel awful. I mean, even more awful than I usually feel thinking about the fact that they died.” She sighed and downed her next shot. Carver did the same. “I’ll tell you someday.”

“I’m not sure how many ‘somedays’ you have left,” Carver pointed out, “unless, of course, this city isn’t as close to tearing itself apart as it was last time I got kidnapped.”

Bella grimaced. “No. It’s been quiet for a few months, but that just means the Knight-Commander has had more time to stew in her paranoia. But whenever things do reach their boiling point, rest assured that your lovely sister will be fine.”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

“Have you seen something stop me yet?” Bella asked before pouring herself another shot. Carver did the same, just so he could pull the bottle out of his sister’s reach. “You said so yourself; I’m the great Belladonna Hawke.” She knocked back the whiskey and added, voice dripping with sarcasm, “I can do  _ anything _ .”

Carver raised an eyebrow. “When did I say that?”

“In the Deep Roads,” she replied. “The last time, when you were trying to convince me to kill you if we couldn’t find the Grey Wardens because ‘there are some things even the great Belladonna Hawke can’t do’.”

“I barely remember anything that happened after we killed that rock wraith,” Carver admitted. “It’s all a feverish blur now. And it was six years ago.”

“I still remember it,” Bella said, her voice quieting. “Practically every night, if it’s not about the templars or the Arishok or Mother or Father or Bethany, my nightmares about you- about what would have happened if I failed you too. If you had died too.”

Carver shifted in his seat, lifting his glass to his lips to give himself time to think of a response. The obvious place to start would be with the typical ‘you didn’t fail anyone, it wasn’t your fault, etc. etc.’, but no matter how many times Carver- or anyone else- had said it, it hadn’t seemed to stick. Would he just be wasting his breath? But he had to say something, didn’t he?

But when he didn’t, Bella gave him a small smile. “Thanks.”

“For what?”

“Not saying anything.” She sighed, raking her hand through her hair. “For two years, that’s all I’ve heard- my friends telling me it wasn’t my fault, that I didn’t do anything wrong, that I shouldn’t drink so much and internalizing all this is unhealthy. And all I can say back is I know, but no matter how much I repeat it to myself or have it repeated to me, I don’t believe it. But I’m finally,  _ finally _ starting to get myself back together, and I don’t need to be patronized every time I mess up again.”

“They’re just worried about you,” Carver commented.

“I know. I have so many people genuinely concerned for me- it’s disgusting.” She paused as she scooted her chair back and kicked her legs up onto the table. “Are you worried about me?”

Now Carver sighed. “Ever since Mother died, almost all the time.” He had been reprimanded more than once for spending too much time thinking about his sister, about Kirkwall.  _ You’re a Grey Warden now. The only family you have are your siblings in arms.  _ Easy to say when your sister wasn’t a Champion with a knack for self-destruction.

“Then stay.”

Carver grimaced. “I can’t.”

“Yes you can,” she insisted. “There isn’t a Blight right now; the Wardens will survive without you.”

“I made an oath to them,” Carver said. “I can’t desert them, whether I want to or not.”

“What if I told you I’d tell you how Father died if you stay?”

“I think that’s something I deserve to know, whether I stay or not.”

“Fine!” Bella suddenly leapt to her feet and began to pace around the room, hands twitching by her side. “Fine, I’ll tell you. It was right after we moved to Lothering; you and Bethany were nine. It was just over two months since my sixteenth birthday, and I-”

“I remember  _ when _ it happened,” Carver interrupted.

“Yes, but it’s important,” she insisted, “because on my sixteenth birthday, Father promised me he would get me a mabari, but he had to wait a few months to save up the money for one, and days, just  _ days _ , after he bought Andor for me, I let him get loose, and he went tearing off into the forest, and I had to chase after him because even though mabaris are smart enough to find their way home, I didn’t know that then, and I was so worried that I’d disappoint Father if he found out, so he couldn’t find out, so I had to bring Andor back.

“So I followed Andor into the forest and right into an encampment of bandits. And the bandits were  _ not _ happy about a teenage girl and her mabari crashing their camp, and they weren’t shy about sharing what they wanted to do to me and Andor. I couldn’t fight back; I didn’t have a weapon, and I barely knew any magic at all, let alone magic useful in combat. But I did know this.”

Bella stopped her pacing just in front of her bed and pivoted towards Carver, hands trembling and eyes wet and wide. After keeping this story to herself for nearly two decades, she needed to tell every detail. Still, she paused and stared at Carver. And it was only when he gave her a tight-lipped smile and a slight nod that she continued.

She cupped her hands together and closed her eyes. After a moment, she spread her hands, and a golden wisp raced from her palms. It made a whizzing lap around the room before shooting out the door.

“What was that?”

“A tracking spell Father created,” Bella said. “It was the first thing he taught me, to use if I was ever in trouble. It’s looking for him so it can lead him to me.”

Carver glanced at the spot in the door where the wisp had raced through it. “Will it find him?”

Bella shook her head. “Even if it does get to Lothering, there’ll be nothing for it to find.” She shuddered, shook her head again, and resumed her pacing. 

“But I’m getting ahead of myself. What matters is that the one in Lothering found him, and it led him to me. I had climbed up a tree to try to escape, and I watched him… handle them. It was the first time I had seen magic like that, magic that could kill. And he killed all of them- except the one that got away, the one that went running back to Lothering.

“On the way back, Father could hear the Templars, hear that clanking their armor makes when they walk. He told me to hide again, so hid behind a tree with Andor while Father went to meet them. I watched them surround him, asking questions, yelling things, and all the while the bandit was insisting this was the apostate he had seen. 

“Father must’ve known he couldn’t fight the Templars like he fought the bandits, must’ve known what they would do to him if he didn’t tell them who he was, what they would have done to his family, to us.”

Carver swallowed thickly as Bella paused and stilled again. This was it. He was finally,  _ finally _ going to learn what happened to his father. There was a part of him that had thought this moment would never come. The same part of him that had watched his sixteen year-old sister stagger into the house with tear-stained cheeks and Andor whining at her heels. The same part of him that had snuck out of bed that night and crept downstairs to see his mother grabbing Bella by the shoulders, yelling at her,  _ begging  _ her with tears streaming down her face  _ Bella what happened to your father Bella where is your father _

And Bella had just stood there. Wordless, empty, broken.

Almost exactly as she stood before Carver now. Still wordless and broken, but not empty this time. No, this time she was overflowing with terror. A tremor wracked her entire body, and her eyes were wide, her face panic-stricken and pale. The pause wasn’t because she was collecting herself, preparing herself to tell the rest of the story, but because she had tried to, and what she prepared to tell terrified her.

“Bella.” And however this story ended, it wasn’t worth hearing if it caused his sister so much anguish. Carver stood and crossed the room to her. She stared up at him with tears in her blown eyes, and Carver thought back to all the times he had been the one staring up at her, and he wrapped his arms around her. She shuddered as she pressed her slim frame to his chest. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“Carver-”

“You don’t have to,” he repeated.

“I’m s-sorry,” she stuttered. “I want- I want to tell you; I r-really d-do.”

“You can tell me when you’re ready,” Carver murmured. “For now, let’s do something fun, just the two of us, before I have to leave again.”

Bella rapidly tightened her grip on him. “Don’t leave me. Please.”

Carver grimaced. “I can’t desert the Wardens.”

“ _ Please _ . I need you here; I can’t be in this house alone.”

“You’ve been just fine for two years now, and besides-”

“I have  _ not _ been fine!”

“And besides,” Carver insisted, “you’re not alone. You have Merrill and Isabela, and Varric, Aveline, Fenris, Anders.”

“Yeah, and I still feel alone and miserable most days. They still aren’t enough,” Bella croaked. “Why aren’t they enough?”

“They will be,” Carver promised. “One day.”

“Well, until that day, I need you.”

Carver sighed as he tried to think of something he could possibly say to persuade his sister otherwise, and when nothing came to mind except what he had insisted before, he felt all the more guilty for saying no. “How about this? I’ll try my best to stay close, and if you ever need me for a few days again, let me know, and if I can, I’ll come visit, okay?”

Bella sighed as well, her face still buried in his shoulder. “Fine, I guess.”

“Now let’s do something fun,” Carver encouraged. “I don’t want to leave you like this.” He paused, trying to think of something they could do. “Why don’t you beat me at Wicked Grace? You love doing that.”

Bella gave a small laugh. “Yeah; it’s been years since I’ve done it too.”

“Do you still have that deck I gave you before I went to the Wardens?” Carver asked, looking around the room for it.

“No,” Bella said hoarsely. “The night I got back to Kirkwall, I got really drunk in Hightown and royally pissed off some nobles who tried to make me leave, and when I didn’t, they took it… I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Carver assured her. “We can use your normal deck.”

Bella nodded before pulling away, making her way towards the table beside the bed. “Did you hear Isabela got a ship?”

Carver sat down at the table once more and poured himself another shot. “No.”

“Well, she did.” Bella sat down across from him, “and someday, if the mage-templar conflict is ever resolved, she’s going to take me and Merrill as far away from this city as possible.”

“That sounds nice,” Carver admitted as Bella began to shuffle the cards.

“Yeah.” Bella’s lips curved into a small, slight smile. “Yeah it does.”

Just as Bella began to deal, there was a knock at the door, and Bodahn stepped inside. He had a letter sealed with black wax which he brought towards Bella. “Hate to disturb you, Mistress Hawke, but the First Enchanter’s messenger stopped by with this. Said it was  _ very  _ urgent.”

Carver raised an eyebrow. “What does Orsino want?”

Bella shrugged. She set the cards down to take the envelope, which she ripped open. Whatever hint of a smile she had had on her face vanished as she read the letter. “He wants me to come to the Gallows, as soon as possible.” She grimaced and stood. “Carver, I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

Carver frowned at her. “Can’t you wait a day? You just got back from the Vimmark Mountains; you need to rest.”

Bella stared at him for a moment, mouth twisting, and Carver wondered if she was going to argue with him. Another thing she loved doing, a thing she hadn’t done in years. And she had always especially loved arguing against her own best interest.

But instead, Bella nodded and sat down again. “Tomorrow. Orsino will have to wait until tomorrow.”

Carver smiled at that.  _ Maybe she really is getting better. _


	21. Chapter 21

“So… does anyone want to talk about what we’re actually going to do next?”

“If I could just get back into the city, I could get my ship, and-”

“We don’t have time for that. We need to get as far away from Kirkwall as quickly as we can. It’s only a matter of time before-”

_ “One of our more rebellious enchanters has been working for years to create escape routes in the Circle. Reestablishing tunnels used by slaves in the age of the Imperium, mostly. If I had known my life would have one day depended on his work, I would’ve been more supportive of his endeavors at the time.” _

_ “You need to get going, Orsino. It’s only a matter of time before Meredith gets tired of waiting.” _

“I can’t leave the city! My husband-”

_ “Are you sure you would not come with us?” _

_ “You need someone to buy you and the apprentices time to escape.” _

“... anywhere with a Circle.”

“So that rules out Starkhaven, Ostwick, Markham, Ansburg, and Hasmal. Tantervale probably isn’t a great idea either. Kaiten has that thing where the city was almost completely destroyed by abominations not too long ago. Hercinia-”

“Most cities don’t like apostates. What else is new?”

“Maybe cities in the Free Marches, but if we went to Tevinter-”

“We go to Tevinter over my dead body, mage. Don’t forget,  _ you’re _ the reason we’re in this mess in the first place.”

“Easy, Broody. Blondie, don’t respond to that. Please.”

_ “We owe you our lives, Champion. And our freedom. Please, take this.” _

_ “No- you need this!” _

_ “This thing is as distinctive as that armor you wear, and it is very clearly not a walking stick. They’ll be looking for an elf with a staff like this.” _

_ “They won’t be looking for a dead man.” _

_ “They won’t think I’m dead if I’m still carrying this thing around. Champion-” _

_ “Bella.” _

_ “Bella, please, take it, and then tell them what they want to hear. That will give us the most time, if they not only think we are dead but that they are right. Tell them my apprentices died and that I used their corpses for blood magic, that you had to kill me. It’s what they want to believe.” _

_ “...I will.” _

_ “Thank you, Bella. And good luck. May the Maker watch over you.” _

_ “Fuck the Maker. He’s never watched over us; I don’t think he’s going to start now.” _

“...shade? Nightshade?”

“Bella?!”

“ _ Fenorain _ ?”

Bella blinked as she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned to see Merrill frowning at her, and slowly she realized they were all frowning at her. Grimacing, Bella tightened her grip around the pitch black staff in her lap, seeking some kind of grounding or anchor in the physical sensation. Something to keep her from spiraling or spacing off.

_ Shit. I’m doing it again, aren’t I?  _ Bella forced herself to clear her throat and run a hand through her hair. “Sorry. Very,  _ very _ long day. What were we talking about?”

“Where to go next,” Varric offered.

“We haven’t agreed on going anywhere yet,” Aveline said. “I can’t leave Kirkwall, at least not without Donnic.”

Anders folded his arms. “You don’t have to come with us. If you’d rather go help the templars-”

“That’s not what I want to do,” Aveline interrupted, “but without Meredith or Elthina, or even Bella for that matter, there’s no one keeping that city together, and there are innocent people who are going to be hurt because of it. I’d rather the guards be the ones helping them than the templars.”

_ “And when someone says ‘move on’, you take their hand and say ‘my choice’.” _

“What about the elves in the alienage?” Merrill asked. “I’m sure the templars and the guard care about them even less now. They need help. And when the Chantry sends its reinforcements, I doubt they’ll treat Clan Sabrae kindly either.”

_ “You always knew your blood magic had a price, da’len. I have chosen to pay it for you.” _

“Kitten, you don’t really want to go back there, do you?”

“No, but I want to help!”

“Well, Bella can’t stay, and we’re staying with Bella, aren’t we?”

_ “But I need her. She already left me once, right after… when I needed her most, she- and then she came back, and I was so- And now she’s gone?” _

“Of course. Always.” Her hand was on Bella’s shoulder again, and she jerked at the sensation. Back to reality. Back to the faces around the campfire staring at her and making noise just slightly louder than the memories swimming in her head.

Bella swallowed thickly, shaking her head, trying to clear her head for just one moment. “Thank you. Both of you. I need you with me.”  _ I think I need all of you with me. _

_ “Please. I need you here; I can’t be in this house alone.” _

_ Well, at least I never have to step foot in that house or that miserable fucking city of awful memories ever again. Oh, fuck, I’m spiraling again, aren’t I? That didn’t last long. _

“-don’t all need to travel together. Honestly, we’ll probably attract less attention if we split up. I think there’s only one elf in Thedas with lyrium branded into his skin.”

“It would be less of an issue if you hadn’t spent the last six years telling anyone who would listen stories about us.”

The noise kept going. Dull buzzing around her and inside her brain, and no matter how many times she twisted the dragon-headed staff in her hands, she couldn’t feel any more grounded in reality. What did reality even mean anymore, when everything was broken and wrong and she was perhaps the most broken and wrong of it all?

_ “I have no fucking clue. Isn’t that fun? I don’t even remember what it’s like to- to be helped, or to feel better. Every time I try to think of some happy memory, there’s this… darkness tinging it, poisoning every memory, every single moment… there’s something wrong with me.” _

For the third time, Bella felt Merrill touch her shoulder. She turned and gave her lover a tight, forced smile, to which Merrill responded with by furrowing her brows. “Let’s go for a walk- you, me, and Isabela.”

Bella frowned, glancing at her other companions, who were still engaged in their discussion of what to do next. “We need to come up with a plan.”

“You need to clear your head,” Merrill insisted as she stood up. “Come on!”

Reluctantly, Bella stood as well and slung her new staff over her back. Merrill took her hand and all but dragged her away from the clearing where they had set up a makeshift camp. Isabela followed behind them, moving to take Bella’s other hand and squeeze it gently. Bella managed a small smile and tightened her grip on both Merrill and Isabela’s hands. This was she needed to stay grounded, to stay present. Merrill and Isabela, the two women she loved more than anything else in this blighted hellscape of a world.

“How are you holding up, love?” Isabela asked.

Bella let out a heavy sigh. “I can’t believe that just happened. I mean, a part of me knew something like this was going to happen eventually, right? Like, Anders was right. There was no chance for peace while the Chantry treats mages like shit, and every so-called compromise since the Circles were founded was just delaying the inevitable, etc. etc.” 

She shook her head and sighed again, her entire body heaving and curling inwards. “But another part of me just can’t believe that it happened while I was there-  _ because  _ I was there.” She suppressed a shudder, and she let go of Merrill’s and Isabela’s hands so she could fold her arms. “What’s going to happen next? Not just for the eight of us, but for Thedas? The Chantry shows up and reasserts order, but then what? Word of this is going to spread. What happens when news reaches Ostwick? Cumberland? Calenhad?” Lips pursed, she lifted her head, and in the distance, she could see smoke curling in the sky against the sunset. “What happens to the world?”

“Well, I’m not sure about the eight of us,” Isabela commented, “but the three of us will find a way to survive.” She rolled up onto her toes to kiss Bella’s cheek. “Like we always will.”

Bella took a deep breath, nodding. Surviving. That she could do. “What about the two of you? How are you holding up? This has been a hard day for all of us.”

For a minute, her question was answered with silence and muffled footsteps over soft earth. Finally, Isabela said, “Considering the circumstances? I think I’m doing pretty well. A little rattled, but seeing a woman turn into a grotesque statue will do that to a person. Disappointed that we got Castillon’s ship for nothing. But I have some ideas about where we should go next, and if we ignore the part where the Chantry is probably going to start hunting us, it could almost be like a vacation.”

“A vacation would be nice,” Merrill commented. “I… I’m worried. About the elves in the Alienage and Clan Sabrae. And about Orsino and his apprentices. But by Mythal, we’re all still alive, and that’s what matters most.” She paused before reaching behind Bella to take Isabela’s hand. “Isabela is right; the world will keep turning, and we’ll find a way to get by.”

“Excellent,” Bella said. “I’m  _ very _ good at getting by. Doing just good enough to somewhat function as a person is my speciality.”

“Oh, come on, we only need to ‘get by’ for a few months,” Isabela insisted, “at least, long enough for me to get my hands on another ship and a crew to captain. Then we’ll really be free. They’ll have trouble following us if we’re on the water, and as long as we’re making coin somehow, we’ll be able to go anywhere we want,  _ do _ anything we want.” 

Isabela stopped abruptly. Bella and Merrill came to a halt as well, turning to see Isabela wearing a frown. “Maker’s breath, I miss the sea.”

Bella frowned as well. She reached out and took Isabela’s hand, running her thumb over the other woman’s knuckles. “We’re going to get you another ship, Isabela.”

“You can even give it the same name as your old one,” Merrill suggested, “oh, or you could call it  _ Siren’s Call II _ .”

“I don’t care what it’s called,” Isabela said. “I just want to be on the sea again- and I want both of you with me when I am.”

“We will be,” Merrill promised, and Bella nodded.

“And as for Orsino and the other elves,” Bella added as she turned to Merrill, “as a wanted woman, I’m not sure how much I can do. I’ll probably just attract unwanted attention.”  _ And danger. Death. The things that have followed me all my life, no matter where I go.  _ “But if you want to help—”

“I do,” Merrill said, “but like I said before, I also want to stay with you and Isabela. Always.” She shrugged. “We can find other ways to help- ways that don’t put you or the people we’re helping in dangers.”

Bella’s mouth twisted. “You… you can do that,” she glanced at Isabela quickly before staring down at her hands, “you both can, if you’d like. But you all saw what happened there- what always seems to happen when I help.” She threaded her fingers together, interlocking her hands tight to try to stem the trembling that had begun. “Things blow up, people die, the people I try to save end up the most hurt of all, and no one seems particularly interested in saying thank you.”

_ “The Circle mages need someone to rise up behind, someone to lead them to freedom, and who better than a free mage with power and influence and respect? Who better than a hero like the Champion of Kirkwall?!” _

_ “I don’t want to be a hero; I don’t want to be a champion.” _

“I just…”  _ “I just want to be left alone to drink and be miserable!”  _ “I want to sail the seas drinking and playing Wicked Grace, and I want to have silly misadventures with the two of you by my side, and I- I—” She shuddered, shoulders curling in. “I don’t want to ever think about what just happened.” Her vision blurred, and when she tried to blink the tears away, she saw bloodied corpses. Abominations wreathed in fire. Demons sprouting from the bodies of mages as young as Carver. As young as Bethany. “Ever again.”

She felt hands on her arms, squeezing gently. Physical contact. Something to keep her from drowning in bloody memories. But not enough to stop the tears from falling as she shivered, croaking, “I’m done helping. I’m done helping. I’m done…”

The touches on her arms turned into hugs, into warm, solid embraces. Bella wrapped her arms around the other women tight, fingers digging into their backs as she physically clung to any grounding in reality she could get.

The one advantage of being perpetually exhausted, both emotionally and physically, was tears never lasted too long. And for that Bella was grateful, because as she was drying her eyes, she noticed Varric and Carver walking towards them. By all technicalities, she still hadn’t  _ sob _ -sobbed in front of her younger brother yet, and she still needed to keep the number of people she grossly cried in front of as low as possible.

“Are you two worrying about me again?” Bella asked, rubbing at her eyes with her sleeve as they approached. They both paused, probably trying to judge her mood. Some teasing was in order. “Carver, at this rate, your hair is going to be grey by the time you’re my age.”

Varric snickered while Carver rolled his eyes. “And it’ll be your fault, not mine.”

“Actually, we think we’ve come to a decision about what we’re doing next,” Varric said. “Junior and I were sent to relay the plan.”

“Aveline is going back to Kirkwall to be with Donnic and help restore order,” Carver explained. “Anders gave her a good lecture about not letting the Chantry put the Templar Order in charge again, which I think she took to heart. And, speaking of, to the surprise of literally no one, Anders is going to try to catch up with Orsino and his apprentices. Hopefully he won’t be making their lives any worse.”

“The Knight Commander would have annulled the Circle if we hadn’t done something,” Varric commented, “if  _ Anders _ hadn’t done something. Even the most masochistic of mages should recognize this is an improvement.”

“We are  _ not _ having this fight among friends,” Bella said firmly before Carver could fire back. “What about Fenris and the two of you?”

“Fenris is going back to Kirkwall, for the time being,” Varric answered, “but I don’t think he’ll be staying there for long. He mentioned possibly going to Starkhaven or Tantervale and doing some additional… enforcing along the Tevinter border. And as for the two of us,” he gave a soft sigh, “we’ve decided to stay with you.”

“For now,” Carver added.

Bella folded her arms. “You don’t have to say it so quickly- or so eagerly.”

“I mean it,” Carver said, folding his arms as well. “The Wardens don’t look too kindly on deserters, but we,” he gave a small laugh, “we  _ hate _ each other when we spend too much time together.” Bella chuckled as well. “A couple hundred miles between the two of us was probably the best thing to ever happen to our relationship. And I still want to be my own person, find my own way.”

“Fair enough.” Bella smiled up at her brother before turning to her best friend. “And what about you, Varric? Are you already plotting the moment when you’ll be able to escape me?”

“I am not plotting!” Carver exclaimed.

Bella gave him a severely ineffectual shove. “Of course you aren’t.”

“I’m not plotting either, Nightshade,” Varric promised. “I don’t have a husband waiting for me in Kirkwall, and the city will be boring without you in it anyway. I hate slavers as much as the next person, but I’m not inclined to dedicate my life to killing them. And I don’t have much inclination towards joining the rebel mages either, so.” He shrugged. “You’re still stuck with me.”

“Looks like I’m stuck with all four of you, then.” Bella’s smile widened. Given the circumstances? City destruction and minor emotional breakdown included? She couldn’t be happier. She doubted it would last, of course. But it didn’t need to. For the first time in a while, the simple fact of surviving was enough for one day. Usually it wasn’t. Usually simply surviving left her riddled with guilt. But not today. Not this day.

And for the first time in a while, her friends were enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End!
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone for reading this piece! This is the first work of fanfiction I've published since 2012, and this story and these characters mean SO much to me. Some final notes:
> 
> 1) This wasn't the last chapter originally; when I first started this piece, I wrote a two-part epilogue featuring Bella and Varric meeting up during Inquisition. At the time, I hadn't been considering the piece as a coherent whole, and I think that lack of awareness is still reflected in certain chapters since I didn't write the piece linearly. In any case, I may post that epilogue separately at some point, but this felt like too good of an ending to keep going afterwards.
> 
> 2) Between this chapter and the start of Inquisition, Bella becomes sober. This was initially mentioned in the epilogue which got cut, but I think it's worth bringing up in some capacity. Addiction is serious, and it is never my intention to trivialize or romanticize the issue, which is why it's important to me that Bella recover.
> 
> 3) I don't have any other Dragon Age fanfics up at the moment, BUT that should be changing soon. I am currently working on a much longer piece called "Golden Girl, Black Sheep" about my Inquisitor Gwendolyn Trevelyan. The fic begins two weeks before she is supposed to attend the Divine Conclave, when her world is turned on its head because her twin brother Glendower has been made Tranquil. I hope to have the first chapter posted by the end of the summer, so if you like my writing, keep an eye out for that!
> 
> Thank you again for reading! Lots of love to you all!


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